


The Sand Viper

by Lisbeth_laufeyson



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_laufeyson/pseuds/Lisbeth_laufeyson
Summary: On the eve of the games, Lanista Solonius presents just one gladiator, a new fighter that no one has seen in the arena before. Though Solonius speaks of the danger that his gladiator poses, his small stature has the other gladiators laughing.All except Agron and Barca, though neither know the other man's reasoning for not joining in with the ridicule.Tomorrow is the games though, and though none of batiatus' gladiators will be facing the Sand Viper all are eager to see the small, young man prove himself.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir, Barca/Pietros
Comments: 106
Kudos: 84





	1. I caught your eye across a crowded room

**Author's Note:**

> this idea wouldn't quit. An alternative start for Nasir which will hopefully work and not remove too much of who he is in the actual series.

News of impending games was always exciting. 

The gladiators of Batiatus' ludus clamoured for position but they all knew who the top spots would fall to, the favoured sons of Crixus, Spartacus, Agron, and Barca.

Sure enough, the four of them were soon called upon to wash, dress, and present themselves in the villa of the Senator Lentalus, who had organised the games as a gift upon the city. Agron seethed as the slaves subjected him to a thorough wash, oiled his body, and dressed him.

“Must we always go through such fucking charade?”

“It is an honour to be the representation for Batiatus,” Crixus corrected him in his usual gruff manner. “See to it you behave as a man worthy of such.”

Spartacus caught Agron's gaze and rolled his eyes, causing Agron to smirk.

“He might fare better if he removed stick from arse,” Agron whispered once Crixus and Barca had left.

There was no room for reply however as they were hurried out into the carriage. It allowed them no way to see the city they passed through, nor did it offer comfort. It was nothing more than a way to transport Batiatus' most expensive cargo.

The villa was filled with the usual scenes of debauchery. Scantily clad performers cavorted in pools, on tables, and around the guests causing the rich Roman ladies to blush and hide their gleeful smiles behind dainty hands. The men seemed unaffected, except for the younger ones. The gladiators all held their heads up high as they walked through the villa, avoiding gaze of anyone who looked at them. They were a different breed of slave. No one demanded lowered gaze and hunched shoulders of them. They, especially in the top echelons, commanded some modicum of respect.

“Do they intentionally tease us with such sights?” Agron grumbled. They stood out of sight, awaiting the moment when they would be paraded for the rich to gawk and paw at.

“Until you are victorious,” Spartacus whispered.

“Exactly,” Crixus added. “All glory falls to the victorious.”

Agron rolled his eyes. “Must you always speak like orator extolling the virtues of being one of us?”

“Better than fucking barbs in tongue whenever Dominus back is turned.”

“Better than fucking his wife when eyes are similarly averted,” Agron whispered.

Spartacus tried to suppress a laugh but Barca and Crixus both turned. “Do you wish to speak louder, fucking shit?!” Crixus snarled.

Agron turned to face him as the Gaul approached but Spartacus stepped in between. “Enough! Batiatus approaches.”

Not wanting to lose place in the games, all four men fell back into line once more. Batiatus swaggered in all smiles, cup held loosely between fingers and wine sweetening his already poetic tongue.  
“My champions,” he greeted them all with open arms. “It is time to show our audience just what Batiatus' ludus has to offer. Do not speak, do as they wish, even if they demand arse as place to bury cock.”

He beckoned them to follow him with a wave of his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “I invite you to feast your eyes upon the fruits of my ludus. The finest gladiators in all of Capua, just as my father and grandfather trained before me. None of these men are any stranger to the arena, their swords drenched in blood from many gladiators from supposedly fine houses. I give you, Barca, the Beast of Carthage, Spartacus, the Bringer of Rain, Agron, The wolf of Germania, and Crixus, the Undefeated Gaul.”

They all flexed and posed for the crowds as their names were called. Despite himself, Agron lapped up their cheers just like he did in the arena. They were led from the centre of the crowd to stand along the far wall where they could all view Solonius' offering.

Solonius stepped into the centre of the crowd all alone. “My friends I offer but one Gladiator for these games. One who may be new to the arena, yes, but who's reputation proceeds him in the cursed lands of his birth. This sole man has dogged the heels of our glorious legions since he was but a child, snapping at their legs and striking with deadly, poisoned, spear. He was captured after ending the lives of fifteen of our best soldiers and found his way to my ludus where cruel, barbaric skill was honed into a living legend.” Solonius paused for effect and smiled. “Do not let his appearance fool you. He will prove his worth in the arena and be the glory of our fair city. I give you, Tiberius! The Sand Viper.”

They saw the spear first, it was the only thing visible of the man above the crowd, but soon he stepped into view. Agron's breath caught in his throat. The man's hair had been kept long and it was tightly braided with strips of red cloth. His eyes were dark and defiant, his jaw set hard, his lips barely concealing a growl. But he was a beautiful man, not a fighting man. He was at least a head shorter than Agron and while broad shouldered he did not have the strong build of any other gladiator.

“Solonius has gone fucking mad,” Crixus whispered. “He plans to send a house slave to the arena.”

“He stands like a warrior,” Barca said softly. “And there is fire in his eyes. I would see him fight before I dismiss him.”

“Perhaps you will be placed against him,” Crixus said. “But try not to beat him too bloody, it won't make the fucking as pleasant afterwards.”

Barca did not react to the comment. Agron looked at him and tried to get a measure of the man's thoughts. It was stupid to put himself in competition with Barca over a man neither of them could have but his hackles rose as he watched the Beast Of Carthage stare at Tiberius.

Tiberius turned slowly and his eyes met Barca's and then Agron's. His lip lifted in a snarl and he pointed the end of his spear at them. A challenge had never been clearer.

“Do you think that spear still carries poison now?” Agron asked.

“Scared, wolf pup?” Crixus laughed.

Agron snorted “More of a healthy wariness of someone named after a snake who also has a knowledge for poisons.”

Tiberius took his place against the opposite wall while a third lanista showed off his gladiators. Agron couldn't take his eyes from him. The man visibly bristled whenever a Roman came near him. The spear had been taken from him, a wise choice, but the man looked like he could still cause some sort of damage without a weapon. The longer he looked at him the more confused Agron became between wanting to face him and hoping he never met him in the arena.

In the end, Tiberius was given a lower match in the games and not facing any of Batiatus' house. Crixus took the primus, following Barca's match, and Spartacus and Agron were paired for their third position match. All gladiators they would be facing came from the third house under the Lanista Summanus.

“I bet Solonius really fucking regrets bringing that boy with him now, eh?” Batiatus jeered with the gladiators. “You cannot kick a man from your bed and into the arena and expect him to swing sword as well as cock!” He said loud enough for Solonius to hear. 

Solonius spared him a glance but nodded in the direction of Tiberius, who had more of a crowd around him than any other gladiator.

Batiatus rolled his eyes. “Small delicate things often impress women.” He banged his wine cup down and beckoned to the gladiators. “Come, my champions. We must be well rested for the morrow though I do not foresee much challenge for us.”

They filed out. Agron kept his eyes on Tiberius for as long as he could, only averting his eyes when he walked into Barca who was doing the same thing. Though Tiberius held their gaze there was nothing more than rage in his eyes.


	2. Of Dreams and Wagers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron and Barca think about Tiberius with both wondering how he will fare in the fight. Meanwhile, Batiatus and Solonius strike up a wager.

The night before a match was usually a source of quiet anxiety for Barca, not that he ever let it show, not even to Pietros. Tonight had a different flavour to it. Not only did he have the usual apprehension that he may not win and either return in shame or not return at all but he also couldn't shake the image of the supposed gladiator that Solonius had shown that evening.

Solonius was no fool. His ludus vied for top spot with Batiatus, each of them taking the lead every now and then, and, although Barca would never voice such a thing out loud, he had respect for the man and his gladiators, strong fighters more often than not. So why had he piled all his reputation onto a man who would need to jump to headbutt Barca in the chest? He looked more like a slave most men would keep for their beds, as Batiatus had quipped, but there was something in him that had drawn Barca's gaze and then held him there.

“Do not fret,” Pietros whispered from where he sat behind Barca, massaging his large shoulders.

“I never fret,” Barca grumbled.

“Something holds tongue,” a gentle kiss fell upon his shoulder. “Do you wish to share it.”

Barca sighed deeply and told Pietros of Tiberius. “Solonius would not stake all on an unknown gladiator without good reason.”

Pietros made a noise of agreement. “A spear can be a deadly weapon, even when not carried by hands such as yours.”

“I know, and many times this evening I feared spear would find home in chest of any of us in that room. This man is rage incarnate. As much as I hate to admit such a thing I am gladdened that it is not I who must face him. I would see him fight first, learn his style.”

“A wise move,” Pietros said softly. Another kiss fell, this time on Barca's cheek. “One expected of a champion such as yourself.”

Barca laughed and turned, gently knocking Pietros to the bed. “You flatter.”

“I speak truth,” he reached up and petted Barca's cheek. He worried his lip in his teeth as his smile fell.

“Speak,” Barca purred and leaned into gently kiss Pietros' face. “See worries lifted.”

Pietros wound one of Barca's braids around his fingers. “Do you desire this gladiator?”

Barca laughed but quickly stopped when Pietros didn't join in. “I do not desire him. My interest is purely one of a warrior in another warrior. I seek only to find the best place to drive my spear, should I ever face him.”

Pietros nodded but his smile did not return. Barca kissed him and coaxed his lips apart so their tongues could touch. 

“My love. There is no one who could turn my heart from you,” Barca whispered.

Pietros' smile finally returned. Barca felt his lovers arms wind around his neck and allowed himself to be pulled down into a deeper kiss.

Not too far away Agron was also entertaining thoughts of Tiberius, ones of a less combative nature. 

“Do you think he will survive?” he asked Spartacus.

“Who?” Spartacus said without looking away from the dark training ground of the ludus.

“Solonius' gladiator. The little man.”

Spartacus looked at him for a long moment. “I am unsure which answer you hope for.”

“It seems unfair to him, placing a man of that stature in the arena against brutes twice his size. Even fighting as hoplomachus he still stands little chance. A spear can only reach so far.”

“And why the fuck should we care about the fairness of a fight that none of our brothers are in?” Crixus growled.

Agron rolled his eyes. “He has the mark, he is a brother.”

“Not our mark.” Crixus sat down heavily next to Agron. “You think with cock. Perhaps if you make desires known we can save the pieces you need after his death tomorrow?”

“Fucking Gaul,” Agron hissed. 

Cirxus laughed harder and walked away, presumably to his cell to sleep. Spartacus rose from the table. 

“To your bed. You can think on Tiberius there and be fresh for victory on the morrow,” he said with a wink and a grin.

Agron protested but what was the point? Spartacus and Crixus had hit on the truth of the matter whether Agron wished to admit it or not. Being in his own cell did not dampen his thoughts, they inflamed them and, in a blessed solitude that many gladiators did not have, his hand found his cock, already half hard at mere thoughts of the other gladiator, and he pleasured himself to images of a naked Tiberius lying under him, hair loose from its braiding and fanned around his head, snarling lips parted in loud moans.

His train of thought was interrupted by a cry from Barca's cell. It was too deep to be Pietros' voice, and from the noise Agron's thoughts swayed to those of Barca underneath him instead, a fantasy he had allowed himself to indulge in from time to time but would never admit to nor make moves towards making real, and he added his own grunt to the noises still drifting from Barca's cell as he came.

Agron's dreams were filled with Tiberius too, and not always heady, enjoyable, fantasies like he had enjoyed while pleasuring himself. Twice, he died at Tiberius' hand, once from a spear wound that quickly festered and grew green then black before taking over his body. In another, Tiberius sat astride him, riding him with wild abandon. He untangled the braid from his hair, slid the red fabric around Agron's neck with tender, loving care, then gathered both ends of it in one hand and pulled. Agron woke up, hands pawing at his neck for the phantom ribbon but of course there was nothing there.

#

“Your boy fights next,” Batiatus said to Solonius.

“Ah yes, The Sand Viper,” Lentalus said, a smirk upon his lips. “Tell me again, good Solonius, how did you come to own such a jewel?”

“He was finally captured and brought to our slave markets, like all gladiators,” Solonius said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I had no competition for him as no one else could see his worth.”

“Perhaps if he was sold as a whore there would have been more bidding,” Batiatus loudly whispered to the senator. The others they shared the booth with also laughed.

Solonius forced a smile. “Perhaps a wager would make things more interesting, if you are so unsure of Tiberius' worth?”

“What did you have in mind?” Batiatus asked.

“If Tiberius loses, as you are so sure he will, then he is yours. You can do with him as you like.”

Batiatus laughed. “I have no need for the boy. If he loses then he is no gladiator and it wouldn't be worth the coin to train him. Perhaps he may be of use as arse to bury cock in. With hair and body like his he will seem a woman from behind.”

More laughter rang out.

“We have a deal then?” Solonius asked.

“Not yet. What do you wish if your man wins?”

Solonius smiled. “If Tiberius wins then he may choose a man to warm his bed with among your champions. Just for one night of course, I would not take a gladiator from you, not in that fashion.”

Batiatus weighed it up. “I gain nothing from this. If your man falls in the arena I have only a fucking corpse. If he wins how do I know my man will be safe with him?”

“Then I will had fifty dinari and promise the safety of your gladiator. They shall not be left alone.”

Surprised whispers and laughs broke out among the others.

“You really believe your little snake will win, don't you?” Batiatus smirked. “Fine, the wager is accepted, though I do feel pity that you will be parted from the only gladiator you dared enter and fifty dinari all in one day.”

“Perhaps it is you who will part with something of worth, even if it is only for a night,” Solonius said, his smile never reaching his eyes.

“And we shall find out presently.” The senator stood and addressed the crowed, introducing the gladiators. Tiberius' entry was greeted with confused noises and then jeers but the gladiator didn't seem phased, nor did the sight of his much larger opponent pause him. He stood in the middle of the arena, his helmeted head turned towards his opponent and his spear held like a standard at his side.

As soon as the command was given to begin the larger gladiator lunged. With a lightning fast blow Tiberius jabbed his spear out and straight through the neck of his opponent.

The crowd was so quiet the dying gurgles could be heard clearly but soon the boos could be heard. Tiberius stood in the middle of the arena unmoved, his spear once more as standard by his side, and left when the guards opened the gates to the bowels of the arena.

“Well, your man knows his way around a spear,” Batiatus said. “And he has earned the gift of one of my champions for this eve. Still, it must be a hollow thing indeed to sit here, victorious, and the boos ring in your ears regardless.”

Solonius kept his voice level but tension was shown in his balled fist. “He will learn the art of a glorious victory. By the Gods, he will learn.”


	3. Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shock of Tiberius' win means Batiatus has a bet to follow through on, but which of his champions will be picked?

Agron gripped the bars of the gate. He could do nothing but stare as the downed gladiator sputtered and gagged as he died.

“He does not understand the nature of fighting in the arena,” Crixus grumbled. “Do you hear them? He can win as many fights as they throw at him but without the crowds' favour....” he trailed off. It was no secret to any of them that not holding the love of the crowd could easily seal a gladiators fate.

“It was remarkable though,” Doctore whispered. “I have never seen any man move so quick.”

They moved back as the gate opened to allow Tiberius through. Agron followed him for a few paces before his mind caught up with what he was doing then stopped out of the spears reach.

“You fought well today,” he said to Tiberius' back. “They only boo because they expect pageantry and longer fights, not the artistry that you display.”

Tiberius stopped and turned. For a moment he regarded Agron through his helmet, which he had not removed since stepping upon the sands, then he turned on his heel and walked on.

“Such a strange creature,” Doctore muttered.

“A fucking snake indeed,” Crixus added. “He will soon learn that Capua has no love for them.”

#

Agron sat in the wash house. He and Spartacus had fought well and won much to the cheers of the crowd. Crixus and Barca had also left the arena victorious yet, as they had made their way back to the Ludus, Batiatus did not appear to be in the jovial mood they expected. He heaped praise on them, promised reward, but something hung over him.

“Agron, you are summoned,” shouted one of the guards, interrupting his thoughts.

He caught the eyes of the other gladiators who had been present at the games. Fear and confusion was in all their gazes and it fuelled Agron's own. Was this what had soured Batiatus mood? Had he wagered one of his own men?

It seemed impossible until he saw the carriage waiting.

“Dominus?” he asked as he drew level with Batiatus.

“Your other expertise have been called upon,” Batiatus said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “The sand viper has been promised something for winning his match, the same thing all gladiators are rewarded with. Except the Syrian shit has no taste for cunt.”

Agron frowned. “I do not understand, Dominus. Am I to be a slave to another gladiator?”

Batiatus laid his hand on Agron's shoulder. “No. It is for one night. Tiberius chose you himself and I have been promised your safe return. Try your best to please him, and do not do him undue damage with that cock of yours.”

With that, Batiatus gave him a gentle push towards the wagon. All through the journey, Agron could hear Batiatus' voice as he joked with the driver but even that could not draw his thoughts away from what was to come. Tiberius had been closed off, silent, hostile even, in the twice he had bothered to acknowledge Agron and now he had picked him as a bedmate? Maybe it was a trap? And here was Batiatus leading one of his best gladiators into a fight without any way of defending himself.

How would they assure his safety? Did they expect him to lie with this man in front of them. It had happened with other gladiators and female slaves, why not him and Tiberius?

The carriage stopped and Agron pushed down every last ounce of anxiety and fear he had and fixed his face into a stony visage. He walked by Batiatus' side, flanked by Solonius' guards. Solonius himself greeted them from the balcony.

“Apologies, good Batiatus,” he said with a smile upon his lips. “I fear you have had a wasted journey. Tiberius refuses the gift.”

“But he picked the man himself!” Batiatus snapped.

“And mind has changed it seems.” Solonius grinned down on them. “He has had time to measure the man's worth and has found him lacking.”

Agron cast a look at Batiatus. The tension in the man's face was so bad Agron feared his teeth would snap but Batiatus held his anger in check and gave a little bow.

“Then we shall take our leave.”

Agron followed Batiatus without a word and got back into the wagon. All through the journey, Batiatus' ramblings drifted through the wood that surrounded Agron. Agron didn't quite feel the rage that his Dominus did, humiliated, yes. Hurt, yes. But the anger that was so often a part of his being was absent.

Back at the Ludus Agron was sent to his cell without apology or further word from Batiatus, not that he had expected one. The wash room was empty so he took advantage of the quiet to cleanse his skin from dirt he could not see. Rejection from a man he didn't even know shouldn't have stung so much, especially when the words were probably nothing more than Solonius' way of taking a jab at Batiatus. Explaining that to himself didn't stop the pain settling in his chest or the pricking at the back of his eyes. He buried his head in his hands and took deep breaths.

“Back so soon?” Spartacus said softly from the door.

“It was all part of Solonius' game,” Agron sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Tiberius did not seek my company, or so the man tells.”

Spartacus sat next to him on the bench. “Did you wish to share his bed?”

Agron snorted a laugh. “You think me a fool. I also regard myself as such.”

“He is an impressive fighter and a beautiful man. If circumstances were different I would not think you a fool.” Spartacus nudged his shoulder in jest. “He would be a dangerous man to be alone with, especially absent weapon.”

“You speak truth,” Agron said softly. “It is merely an infatuation. It will pass.”

Spartacus hugged him into his side. “Ours is a lonely life, even when surrounded by brothers. Seek comfort in your harmless fantasies. We must glean comfort where we can.”

Agron remained for a few moments in silence as he ordered his thoughts into a more sensible order. Once out in the hallways he forsook his own private cell to seek out his brother. Duro was sleeping on his side in a shared cell. Agron snuggled into the space between him and another gladiator and rested his arm over his little brother.

Duro awoke with a start. “Agron!” he hissed. “You steal in here to drive heart from chest with fear?”

Agron smiled. “Apologies.”

“Why are you here? Any man in here would take Dominus' cock for a private cell.”

“It is not the luxury it first appears.”

Duro regarded his brother for a moment and Agron gave up the pretence of smiles. “Sleep then, and be quiet about it.” he lay back down again and pulled Agron's arm back over him.

Agron managed a genuine smile as he curled up close to his brother just as they had done many a night since they were children. They were all each other had. They had survived the massacre of their people together, years of fighting, slavery, and finally this ludus, and, when Spartacus finally put plan in motion, they would have each other as they fought for freedom and perhaps fell together in death.

Fuck them all! The dominuses, the Romans, the stony faced Syrians who would not last another quick match in the arena. He would endure as long as he had Duro with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided last minute to throw Duro into this because the idea is evolving as I write it and has changed a little bit since I first thought of it.
> 
> I went back and forth on this chapter a few times and had another version were Tiberius did actually ask for Agron's company but I think it's too early for that.
> 
> I have ideas!! just have to get them down :)


	4. Last scrap of family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron and the others have watched the Sand Viper rise in the crowds favor with morbid fascination. He no longer kills with one blow but allows his opponents a faint dream of survival, all the while dazzling Capua's fickle crowd with his shining sashes that adorn his body along with his armour and, of course, his unrivalled beauty.
> 
> But a simple piece of paper delivered to the gladiators in the hands of Ashur soon proves that the house of Batiatus will not be spared the horror of facing the Viper in the arena forever.

Months passed with very little change.

The sand viper continued to win his matches in quick, deadly moves but not as quick as he first had. Now he allowed his opponents to attempt a strike and would wound them before making a killing blow. The crowd seemed to change a little towards him too. There was something intriguing after all in a man who seemed barely out of boyhood who could kill others sometimes twice his size in height and girth and gain not even a scratch.

Solonius knew his craft. The Sand viper wore sashes with his scant armour that were inlaid with shining threads or perhaps pieces of gold or chips of jewels and one arm was covered in a sleeve of metal discs that moved and shimmered like scales. They glittered in the hot Italian sun and the cloth flowed with his movements, turning his fighting into an art. Even his spear had been decorated to glitter and shine as it was put to deadly purpose.

“Say what you will about the man, you cannot fault his fucking brain,” Crixus grumbled as they went about their training.

“It doesn't take a sharp wit to turn an already exotic creature into something even more desirable,” Agron said.

The other gladiators laughed.

“You will find yourself impaled upon his spear before you are ever impaled on his cock,” Crixus mocked.

Agron rolled his eyes. “I do not desire the Sand Viper.”

“You protest too loudly,” Sparatcus jested. “All have noted the look you cast him.”

“I have something easier to obtain if you like a taste of dangerous things,” Barca laughed. He grabbed his crotch.

Even Agron couldn't help but chuckle at that. “I would rather face the bejewelled Viper than the wrath of Pietros.”

Attention was drawn back to sparring as Doctore's gaze fell upon them. Agron spared only a glance for his brother, who was fighting nearby and still slow to find his feet in combat. Separation had been a sensible idea for both of them but Agron still felt every blow Duro took and winced at every harsh or mocking word thrown his way. He bit his tongue to prevent himself hissing orders at his brother and turned away with difficulty.

When the end of training came Agron was glad of the damp warmth of the bathhouse His muscles ached in the delicious way only a good days work caused, and he could already feel the tendrils of sleep rising to envelope him. He rested in the bath with a few of his brothers and let the cold water soothe him.

Asher's voice cut through soft chatter of the wash room and turned the gladiators into a clamouring, scrapping mess as they fought over the scrap of paper with the placements for the newest games. Joy at their own positions and gentle ribbing of others quickly died away to a murmur of discontent. Agron rose from the bath and approached his brother, who stood with the parchment in his shaking hands.

“Let me see,” he said softly as he coaxed Duro into letting go. 

Duro glanced up into his brothers eyes and Agron didn't need to read the parchment to know what was written there.

#

“You must petition Dominus to reconsider,” Agron demanded as he fell into step with Doctore.

Doctore raised an eyebrow. “Must?”

“I would not make demands of you if this was not a matter of great importance!” Agron said, his voice rising in panic. “Please, Doctore, my brother will never return.”

“And you would send another brother in his place?”

“Duro is a brother by blood! A mere four years of my life I have spent without him and that was only due to waiting on his birth. I would sooner have my own heart ripped from chest than send him to certain death.”

Doctore stopped walking so suddenly that Agron took a few steps before realizing. “Do you think me heartless?” Doctore asked in a softer tone than Agron was used to.

“Would I bring such a matter to you if I did?”

Doctore sighed. “Agron, this is the life of a gladiator. We risk losing brothers every time we set foot upon the sand. We do not fear death, we embrace it.”

“But he is my brother!”

“As is Crixus, and Barca and the others.” Doctore held his gaze. “And yet it is not lost to me how this bond differs.”

Agron breathed a sigh of relief. “So you will speak with Batiatus?”

“And what man would you send in Duro's place?”

“Myself,” Agron said without hesitation.

“And then I would have another idiot from East of the Rhine pleading for the life of a fellow gladiator.” Doctore placed his large hand on Agron's shoulder. “I understand the pain this will cause you, but if Duro does not fight the Viper then there will be another fight and another gladiator. Do you seek to fight every battle for your younger brother?”

Agron swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I would not send my last scrap of family to a certain death!”

Doctore did not flinch, though Agron had been close enough to pepper his face with spittle when he shouted. “Apply that fire to better use and ensure your brothers survival. I cannot petition for him to be replaced in the games. He would never recover from the humiliation.”

“And how do you suggest a man best certain death.”

“Not best, just survive,” Doctore smiled and pointed to the scar on his face. “As I did. Duro must be swift and know the length of the spear. He must stay out of range and only return to strike when the Viper shows weakness.”

Agron shook his head. Tears stung his eyes. “And if he does not tire or show weakness.”

“Dry your tears,” Doctore said softly. “This is a thing I cannot do for you, no matter how much my heart wants it. Duro is a brother not only to you, Agron, but to us all, and as a brother he must fight, he must win, and, eventually, he must die. There is nothing more to be said on the matter.”

Agron slumped against the wall as Doctore walked away. His brother was going to die at the hands of a glittering beauty with fatal accuracy and there was nothing he could do but watch and wait.

#

He slept beside Duro that night, having asked permission for his brother to share his cell and Doctore had allowed it. The sadness in Doctore's eyes had not soothed the heart of either brother, but the time alone to show the emotion they wished to went some way easing the burden.

They did not speak, the time for words were long gone and what thing could either of them say that would help now? Agron lay on his side, his arm around his brother's waist, while Duro lay on his back.

Neither slept, and in the morning, with eyes red and stinging from the tears they had shed, they made their way to breakfast with the others. No jests were made, not even from Crixus, which only served to make Agron feel more sick than he already did.

They got to the arena in plenty of time for the first fight. Agron paced around and tried to keep his mind on his own fight, but all that kept entering his head was the thought of trying to survive with the weight of his brothers death weighing on him. 

His fellow gladiators seemed to take it in turns to keep a watch on him, even Crixus and Doctore took their turn. The only face Agron did not see was Duro and despite knowing it would mean never seeing his brother again, Agron prayed that he had had found a way to escape.

He had not. All too soon he was emerging from the shadows fully dressed for his bout and axe and shield in hand, not that anything would save him. Their eyes met but Agron could say nothing, do nothing, terrified that one word wrong or a misplaced hug would ruin the huge reserve of strength his brother had tapped into to walk out to certain death.

The Viper strode out first, bedecked in red and gold, to the cheers of the crowd. He held his spear aloft, but did not preen for them as the other gladiators did. Duro stepped out onto the sand as his name was called. Cheers rose for him too though not as loud. Agron leaned forward, arm outstretched, but one look from Doctore and he shrank back. He would not add the humiliation of pulling his brother from the arena to Duro's inevitable death.

As one, the surged towards the gate. Barca rested his arm around Agron and leaned close.

“The pain will be great,” Barca whispered. “But you must keep wits about you and bring honour to our house with your own victory. Grief can come later.”

“He will not fall,” Agron spat though he did not believe the words. None of the others moved to correct him.

The battle began the same way all of the Viper's fights had of late. He circled his opponent lazily, his spear held loosely by his side, a show of superiority that drove most men into hasty attack, but not Duro. He kept back out of range of the spear and held pace with Tiberius, always keeping his face to the other gladiator. Finally, the crowds boos drove the Viper into striking first.

Again, like every recent fight, the first blow was no more than a hard slap with the spear shaft across Duro's chest. Lesser gladiators had fallen over to such a blow but Duro only stumbled then surprised them all as he hooked his arm around the Viper's spear, and spun down the length of it to bring himself inside the Vipers' guard.

Tiberius struck out with the heel of his hand and hit Duro's shoulder so hard that he dropped his axe. Again, he surprised his brothers on the other side of the gate by rolling out of the Viper's range and grabbing his axe on the way. The crowd cheered louder than they had all day and, for the first time, Agron allowed a little bit of hope to warm his heart.

They circled one another once more. The Viper struck first again. Duro screamed as the spear bit deep into the meat of his shoulder. His shield arm drooped, now useless, hanging on the sinews of the damaged shoulder. The Viper moved in closer, easily parrying Duro's axe swings, and knocked him on his back. The crowd gasped. Agron's knuckles turned white as he gripped the bars of the gate.

The Viper paced around Duro, spearhead trained on Duro's chest. Suddenly, he raised it high in the air.

“Duro, no!!”

Agron only realized he had made the noise when Spartacus gently covered his mouth with his hand to prevent further outbursts. Hot tears fell and pooled against his friend's hand. He locked eyes with the viper across the sand for a moment before the gladiator turned back to Duro, who still lay prone upon the sand, raised his spear, and struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh a cliffhanger!! 
> 
> I don't know whether to write and post the next chapter now or leave it a bit to build the suspense :)
> 
> And yes Nasir is a gorgeous gladiator in pretty armor as he should be :)


	5. Master is but a title

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Duro survive?

Agron's breath caught in his throat.

Barca and Spartatcus, who both had an arm around him now, gasped in unison with the crowd as their arms tensed around his back. The spear seemed to take an age to surge towards Duro...

and miss!

The arena stood so silent that the birds flying overhead could be heard. In the arena, the Viper seemed frozen to the spot, spearhead still driven deep into the sand at Duro's side. Suddenly, they both moved, the Viper pulling back the spear to strike once more, and Duro rolling well out of range.

They engaged once more.

It was short. Duro took a wild swing with his axe that came close to injuring the Viper but he soon found himself on his knees in front of the smaller gladiator and trapped in a headlock. A moment passed and then another before Duro's hand rose in the two fingered gesture of surrender.

Agron, once again, forgot to breathe, forgot to allow his heart to beat and force him into yet another moment when his brothers life hung in the balance. Now it was in much crueller hands than those that wielded the gilded spear. They all watched, counting each agonising second, until the signal was given.

Duro and Tiberius left the arena to the cheers of the crowd. Agron rushed to embrace Duro. His brother loosed a pained cry when he tried to raise his arm but he lived! Despite the damaged shoulder and a cut to his side, which marked just how close the death blow had come, he lived.

#

The day belonged to the house of Batiatus after that. Bolstered by his brothers survival and the need to get back to his side as soon as possible, Agron dispatched his opponent in record time. The crowd offered token applause, perhaps still in fine spirits after Duro's match, but pleasing them was not Agron's concern. He left the sand as soon as he could and rushed to the little room in the arena where the medicus was tending Duro's shoulder.

From the little windowless room they both heard the chants of Crixus' name and the cheers that followed. The same announced Spartacus though at louder volume, Crixus would be sour this evening but Agron could weather anything now his brother still drew breath against all the odds.

The journey back to the villa was full of praise for Duro as well as boasting about their own victories, and Agron was so full of happiness that he did not think anything of Batiatus bidding him to follow until his wrists were shackled to the wall. A punch rattled his jaw.

“Do you seek to dishonour me?!” Batiatus roared. “Bleating from behind gates like a whore begging for cock!” A kick was delivered to his groin. 

Agron sank as far as the shackles allowed but managed to keep any other reaction hidden.

“Fucking speak!” Batiatus demanded. “Why did you call his name like some simpering idiot!”

“He is my brother,” Agron said through gritted teeth. He held Batiatus' gaze and suppressed a smirk of triumph as his supposed master averted his gaze in favour of pacing.

“They are all your brothers, you German fuck.” Another punch filled Agron's mouth with blood. Batiatus leaned over, pressing his face close to Agron's. “And you dishonoured them all by showing fear in front of Solonius' man. Not just any man, but a tiny, glittering, peacock who will meet his end as soon as an actual gladiator like Crixus faces him.” He gripped Agron's short hair and pulled his head back. “The next time you utter the name of that worthless fuck who was expelled from the same cunt you were out of turn I will spill your guts upon the sand of this Ludus.”

Agron did not drop his gaze until Batiatus was out of sight. He straightened up, spat excess blood onto the ground, and felt what little doubt he still had about Spartacus' plan melt away.

#

Barca stilled Pietros' hand against his half hard cock. “Apologies,” he said softly. “The fault is mine.”

Pietros slowly pulled his hand away and bowed his head. “No, the fault is mine.”

“Do not think such things.” Barca tilted his lovers head up and kissed him. “My mind is elsewhere for reasons I do not know.”

Pietros chewed his lip. “My ears and heart are ever open to your worries.”

Barca smiled and coaxed Pietros into lying upon the bed with him, face to face, their arms around one another. “I watched a man's heart break many times today, and even though his brother was returned to him alive and mostly well I saw the damage such a thing had already done.” He stroked Pietros' cheek with the back of his fingers. “I would not bring such pain upon you.”

“You needed to witness this in another man when you have felt such pain yourself?”

“It is difficult to remember such pain when life has such sweetness.” Barca brought Peitros' hand to his lips and peppered his fingers with kisses. “But I can no longer hide from it. I fear it'll take too long to raise coin for us both but there may be another option.”

Pietros' eyes were wide in the dark. “What is it?” he whispered.

Barca leaned in, nose to nose, and told him about the plan.

#

Next morning, a bruised and furious Agron sat with Spartacus, as per usual, to break fast together. Spartacus did not ask about the marks on Agron's face and Agron did not divulge the information. instead, after a moment in silence, he whispered.

“We cannot wait much longer.”

“To act too soon will be our undoing,” Spartacus mumbled back. 

Neither man looked at the other and carried on eating in between words.

“My brother was sent into the arena with an assassin.” Agron balled his fist so tight it shook. “It could be any of us next time.”

“Perhaps the Viper will once again miss his strike, especially if he knows we are close to you,” Spartacus smirked.

Agron shook his head. “I too think the miss was calculated and that he allowed Duro yield when he could have easily killed him, but that does not mean he will do it again nor is it any reason to delay! Though we stand a much better chance against other men we always run the risk of death and for what?! For the pleasure of shit eating Romans?”

Spartacus quickly swallowed his words when Barca and Pietros sat at their table. “I add another to your cause,” Barca said under his breath.

Spartacus nodded to Pietros. “I assumed Barca had brought you into his confidence a long time ago.”

“I did not wish to burden him when idea was half formed but now is the time for action.” Barca rested his hand on Pietros' back. “I will do as you ask. Apologies for taking so long to see the wisdom in your plan.”

Agron glanced from one of them to the other. “What did you ask of him?”

Spartacus spooned some more porridge into his mouth. “That Barca use his position to win us the last piece of the puzzle. Once everything is in place then we can make our move.”

Agron followed Spartacus' gaze and smiled when he saw where it fell. Of course a plan such as Spartacus' could not be pulled off without the help of a fucking Gaul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am worrying that this story is going to end up crashing into my Eagle Eyed story even though Nasir's character is different in both. The the other one is closer to canon, Barca and Pietros' survival notwithstanding. 
> 
> Anyway, don't know why i mentioned that lol.


	6. Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Duro's survival the gladiators start to work on bringing Spartacus' plan into being before another of them is pitted against the Viper with less success and a move by Batiatus might finally move the last pieces of the puzzle into place

Crixus looked Barca up and down for the longest time, his eyebrows drawing down in a confused frown. “You jest, surely.”

“This is not a matter I would bring up lightly, you know that.” Barca stepped closer and lowered his voice. “We stand a chance if all of us move as one.”

“You have had ample opportunity over the years to remove obstacles to your freedom when acting bodyguard. Why have you never done so.”

Barca shook his head sadly. “Truly? I never had cause before.”

Crixus laughed. “Ah. You are doing this for an ass to place cock.”

“You will not speak of Pietros that way,” Barca hissed. “And I will not have him suffer this life any more!”

“A noble cause, brother,” Crixus said. “And death at the hands of our Dominus would serve the purpose of preventing him from suffering this life any longer.”

“We can escape,” Barca said firmly. “And be free men.”

“No, what we will be is hunted forever, like dogs.” Crixus stepped away, appeared to think better of it, and walked back. “Cease this talk, and do not try to draw me into such foolish nonsense again. I will not die for you.”

Pietros took Barca's hand as he sat with him. “Crixus did not take news well?”

Barca shook his head. “I know his kind. The men who come here grow comfortable with their lot. They crave the adoration of the crowd, victories in the arena, and all else pales in comparison. He has nothing to make him want for more, for better, but that is not his fault.”

“What will we do? Can we still move without him?”

“Spartacus is reluctant and there must be good reason.” Barca leaned against the wall at their backs and sighed. “I will keep trying. Perhaps the direct route was not the way to go.”

“Perhaps.” Pietros squeezed his hand. “Do not vex yourself. He may not wish to follow us now, but he will march through these gates with the rest of us when the times comes.”

Barca grinned and placed a gentle kiss on his lovers lips. “You are wiser than almost every man in here.”

“Almost every man?” Pietros smirked.

“Not including myself of course,” Barca grinned.

#

“At least someone is in high spirits this morning,” Duro grumbled and nodded his head towards Barca and Pietros. “Unlike present company.”

“Forgive me for not dancing for joy,” Agron snapped. “It was hard to sleep when nose whistles with every breath.”

“Oh cease whining! You live and the nose will heal.” Duro stretched in the sun and winced as his shoulder pulled. “Next time bite tongue and nose will not be broken. Nor will your brother suffer humiliation.”

“I thought you as good as dead!”

“As did I but I did not cry for you!” Duro's expression softened when he looked at his brother. “I am no child any more. You do not need to protect me.”

“There is more reason for it now than ever. Our lives constantly put us in the path of death and, sooner or later, we all will fall. That is why--”

“That is why you must let fate come to me in whatever shape it wishes to take. A gladiator does not fear death.”

Agron punched Duro's good shoulder. “Do not spit those fucking words at me. No man fears his own death but any man worth his salt fears for what such a loss will do to those left behind, and they fear losing those they love.”

Silence settled between them Duro seemed ready to break words on a few occasions but always swallowed them with a shake of his head. Exasperated, Agron sighed and got to his feet but, before he could leave, his brother spoke once more.

#

Spartacus frowned. “I am unsure why this is news you thought I needed to hear.”

Agron sighed. “It proves the Viper may be an ally to us.”

“Because he let your brother live?”

“And in so doing drove his cock into the arse of his Dominus.” Agron paced, the news about the Viper fuelling an energy he normally only felt in the arena. “He has no loyalty to Solonius, he betrayed his house terribly, but he has shown loyalty to us!”

Spartacus shook his head and sighed. “Your brother surviving does not reveal anyth--”

“He told him to yield!” Agron hissed. “This was not luck or skill on Duro's part. Tiberius made a choice he has not made with any gladiator from any other house and this is an advantage we need to push! We stand a good chance of escaping our own walls but we need to support of others, fighting men like us, to succeed further.”

“Do you not think they will come when we have shown then the way?” Spartacus asked.

“Would not a guarantee be better?”

“We cannot persuade all of our own brothers, never mind one we do not know.” Spartacus smiled to soften his words. “I firmly believe Tiberius will rise against his Dominus as soon as opportunity arises, but we cannot tell him such a thing. What if word gets back to Solonius, and through him Batiatus.”

Agron swallowed his harsh reply in favour of softer words. “Apologies. I got carried away at the thought. He would be a valuable ally.”

Spartacus nodded in agreement. “I would sooner have him with us than against us and if we had any way of speaking with him then I would consider it but we have no way of contacting other gladiators.”

“So we must do what we do with everything else? We must wait?” Agron grumbled.

“Timing is important,” Spartacus said softly. “I ask you to hold faith in me for a while longer. It will be rewarded. I promise.”

Agron nodded and chewed his lip. “I just pray we still have the time.

#

The day passed in much the same way they always had.

The gladiators arose at the same time every day. They ate together, trained together, and awaited news on the next games where they might make more coin and, in so doing, purchase for themselves some scrap of pleasure, be it wine or woman, to be enjoyed for a few hours. Barca, as always, did not waste coin on such things. He had no desire for women and had been lucky enough to find love among the men he shared the ludus with. All coin he made went toward a much more important purchase. Either Spartacus would eventually give them the signal to put his plan in action or he would save enough to purchase freedom Pietros and himself. Right now, it seemed he might raise the coin before Spartacus ever moved against Batiatus.

Crixus was the reason. It was never said out loud but Agron knew it. Barca, who worked hard in a myriad different ways to bring the Gaul onside, knew it. Duro, who was not fully on board himself, knew it. And for all that no one could think of a way to convince Crixus that a life that he only clung onto due to the whims of a man he could snap like a twig was no way to live.

In the end, it was the dominus himself, or rather his wife who put an end to Crixus' loyalty. The gladiators assembled, stirred from their nightly ablutions by screaming, wild crying, and batiatus' demands that all witness what was about to happen.

Barca stared, wide-eyed, at the sight of Crixus standing between two hastily erected poles, his arms outstretched and bound by ropes. Pietros joined him but before he could speak Barca hushed him. He tried to make out what Batiatus was saying, something about punishments and overstepping, but before he could make sense of it Doctore stepped forward.

The whip cracked along Crixus' back. Barca felt it's sting as if the leather licked his own flesh and grabbed Pietros' hand to steady himself. Another crack of the whip. Blood spurted from the broken flesh on the Gaul's back and a cry loosed from his throat. Barca forced himself to watch, to stand in silent solidarity with his brother because, deep down, he knew whatever Crixus had done it did not warrant such punishment. 

Across the rough semi circle that they stood in, Agron caught his eye. His jaw was hard set, eyes wide, and despite the animosity he knew Agron had for Crixus and Crixus had for him in equal amount, there was a pain there, a sadness, as he visibly recoiled at the sound of the whip and Crixus' wail.  
Finally, Batiatus called a halt to the punishment. Barca's muscles bunched and tensed as he fought against the urge to go to his friend but he hung back. He would not invite punished down on himself or Pietros, not while Batiatus was in such a mood.

A voice rang out in the darkness. Barca's heart seized in his chest and his hand tightened around Pietros' as, suddenly, it all became clear. Naevia, her hair crudely shorn, flew into Crixus' arms. The fool! Sleeping with the domina's virginal pet while also fucking the domina? No wonder such rage had been visited upon him.

No, it was not Crixus' fault. All the man had done was fall for a beautiful woman. If they had both been free there wouldn't have been any issues.

Naevia was finally torn from her love and Barca could not stay back any more. He approached Crixus slowly, and placed his hand on his ruined back.

“Be still,” he soothed. “I mean you no harm.”

“Follow them!” Crixus spat through his tears. “Find where they are taking her.”

Barca glanced towards the gates, where Naevia had already disappeared. “I cannot, you know that. But join our cause and, once we are free, we can find her then.”

Crixus' sobbed once more and slumped forward as far as the ropes would allow. Barca moved closer and lay Crixus' head upon his shoulder. A few of the other gladiators cast him strange looks but Agron and Spartacus were not among them. Though their faces both bore the same look of concern they did not venture closer. 

The whip cracked close to Barca.

“Leave him!” Doctore commanded. “Back to your cells, all of you.”

Barca slowly stepped back from Crixus and tried to convey through look alone that he still had Barca's full support. Under the watchful eye of Doctore, Barca finally turned and marched back into the cells with the other gladiators.

Once inside his own cell Barca grabbed Pietros and hugged him tight. “I will see you free!”

Pietros returned the embrace. “We will both be free and soon! And when we are will will find Naevia again.”

Barca nodded and kissed the top of Pietros' head. Tears pricked his eyes at the mere thought of Pietros being anywhere but by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this last minute as I suddenly had an idea for how this could go then I changed it back again. I am quickly skipping over bits that are in the show because they have already been told perfectly and I don't need to write them out here :)
> 
> This is basically a filler chap, a calm before the storm if you will. Next chapter will be better especially now I have committed to how the story has to progress.


	7. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gladiators of Batiatus have broken free and, in so doing, have plunged the city of Capua into bloody chaos. In the battleground the streets have become, Agron and Duro become seperated but an unexpected ally may just save them both.

The streets of Capua were awash with chaos. 

Slaves turned on their masters, buoyed by the gladiators storming their houses and ripping collars from necks. Some fell, but many grabbed what weapons they could and swelled the ranks of Spartacus' band of rebels. Agron held position on Spartacus' right hand side. His body caked in the blood of wealthy Roman's who, hours before, had gathered to gawk at them once more, demanding the exposure of their very cocks to hungry eyes, and helping themselves to handfuls of their flesh. 

It took all of Agron's strength not to punch the last Roman who grabbed his ass and made lewd comments but he was true to his words and waited for Spartacus' signal and it came not when they were in the house being pawed at but back out on the sand.

The image replayed in his head even as they stormed through the streets, of he and his brothers with their wrists in shackles. Of the Roman shoulders goading them even as they complied with the fighting. And then Spartacus' mighty leap from Crixus' shield and into the Ludus itself.

Everything afterward was blood red.

Agron quickly parried a guards sword then drove his own blade through his chest. They needed somewhere to hide and fast. News would reach larger troops eventually and they would be overrun, especially with Glaber as patron of the now destroyed ludus. But where? No house was safe, not in this city, and leaving it before they had chance to plan further would leave them exposed. For now, all they could do was gather reinforcements from the cities slave population.

Loud cries in a nearby street drew their attention. Barca fought his way through a small band of soldiers with Pietros fighting just as fiercely at his side. Agron broke from the main group with a few others and rushed to his aid, easily putting an end to the remaining soldiers.

“There is no sign of her in any house we have visited,” Barca shouted over the noise in the streets. “Does Crixus still press on with his search?”

“Perhaps to our detriment,” Agron huffed. “ We need to go to ground, gather our forces, and plan our next move.”

Barca nodded. “What of the other ludus'?”

Agron shrugged. “I have not heard anything about them.”

“They have but two choices.” Pietros attempted to wipe blood from his face with the back of his hand but ended up causing a bigger smear. “By the end of the night they will either fight by our side or be swords at our front.”

There was nothing Agron or Barca could add to his statement. The truth was evident to them all. Silently, they moved through the city once more. They tried to keep up with the main group but soldiers harried them constantly, and when they did finally join Spartacus his group was much depleted. Duro, though more bloody than when Agron last saw him, still stood among them.

“Separated only,” Spartacus said as if he could read the worry from their expressions. “We will find them.”

“And go where?” Barca demanded. “Crixus is a battering ram made flesh. Will you allow him to pull every master from his bed before you reign him in?”  
“His rage carries him,” Spartacus grumbled. “But you speak wisely. Barca, come with me. You have a better chance of calming the Gaul than I do.”

“And what will I do? Is there a plan to all this?” Agron snapped.

Spartacus thought for a moment. “Find who you can of our number and direct them to the cisterns. The network is extensive enough that we can hide and move through the tunnels. We will direct who we see.”

“And if we tell a solider or noble by mistake?”

“The city is already hopelessly divided. The distinction should be plainly evident.”

They clasped each others forearms before going their separate ways. Duro fell into step beside Agron.

“You would be better with Spartacus,” Agron grumbled.

“You are but one man until you find others to join you. I will fight by your side and turn to the cisterns when you do.”

Agron nodded in agreement. What else could he do? There was some comfort in having Duro with him instead of wondering how he was faring. As soon as they could, they relieved some dead soldiers of their capes and hastily wrapped themselves in the dark fabrics. There was no time to don their armour but the cloaks served purpose, making them less obvious in the gloomy city streets. Slave and gladiator alike were grabbed and news delivered into ear in whispers. Some stayed to fight their way to untouched houses along with Agron and Duro and pull more slaves into their ranks. Some ran at the sight of them, dripping blood and snarling as they were. Others put themselves to the sword, caught between escaping and maybe meeting death and staying and possibly meeting death as punishment to the others that escaped. Others took up swords readily and turned upon their masters.

A couple of slaves pleaded for the lives of the families they lived with. Well cared for slaves who shared looks of familial love with their masters were hard to break up, but a Roman among their ranks was too dangerous and a slave loyal to Rome more so.

For the first time he could remember, in all his life fighting, Agron wept as he drew his blade across exposed necks. The necessity of the task did nothing to make it more palatable.

Soldiers patrolled the streets in larger numbers and drove the panicking populous like a wave before them. Despite spending the best part of their journey through the city clinging to his brothers wrist, Agron stumbled as a large group of screaming Romans barraged through them and his hand slipped from Duro's grasp. He fell and rolled into a ball as sandled feet pounded over bloodied ground and his body alike and, when dust had finally settled, he pulled himself up into seating position and found sword point at his throat.

Agron held the gaze of the soldier. He was on his own, a man younger than Agron by a few years by the look of him, but the cold determination in his eyes was the same as in any other soldier. There was no weapon within reach. Agron's bruised body felt incapable of the explosive movement needed to escape, so he held the soldier's gaze and waited for the strike.

The soldier's mouth burst open, peppering Agron with shards of tooth and bone. For a moment, he sputtered and gurgled around the spear shaft before it was withdrawn with the same speed at which it had entered. The solider slumped to his knees and then to the side, helped along by a little push from the spear. The Sand Viper, looking as if he had walked straight from he arena itself in all his glittering red and gold armour, stared down at him then offered out his hand.

Agron took it, his own larger one engulfing it, and was hauled to his feet. Every part of his body complained loudly but he stood upright, a full head and shoulders above his rescuer.

“Gratitude,” he said.

“Find somewhere to hide and be quick about it,” the Sand Viper snapped. “You are no longer in fit state to fight and I would not see a gift of life squandered.”

“But my brother...” Agron glanced in the direction the crowd had moved off in.

“I will find him,” Tiberius said. He shook the spear, dislodging a lump of hairy flesh from it. “You see to keeping yourself alive.”

Without giving Agron a chance to answer the Viper ran further into the town, following the distant shouts and screams. Agron thought about following but bending to pick up his sword was almost too much effort. Reluctantly, he put his last ounces of strength into making his way to the cisterns and seeing those he met along the way there safely.

#

It seemed an age that Agron had languished in a dark corner of the damp cisterns. A large crowd, mostly women and children, waited there too, but a few gladiators stood with him, some battered and bruised as Agron was. He strained to sit up as Barca, Pietros, and Crixus appeared.

There was still no sign of Duro or the Viper, or Spartacus for that matter.

Barca squatted down beside him and laid his large hand on his shoulder. “You fought well, brother.”

Agron snorted a laugh. “I was felled by a stampeding crowd, hardly a noble end.”

“It is not an end,” Barca smiled. “Merely a few bruises and possibly a scar with a story to regale others with.”

“Have you seen Duro?”

Barca's eyes widened. “He is not with you?”

“We got separated. Tiberius said he would look for him but...” Agron trailed off as the lump in his throat grew too hard to speak around.

Barca squeezed his shoulder. “Do not lose hope. Your brother is a strong fighter, as he has proven time and again. He will return to us.”

Agron snorted a laugh. “Words of praise from the Beast of Carthage? Now I know he is done for.”

Barca laughed with him. Cries from closer to the entrance of the cisterns drew their attention. Barca stood and drew blade, ready to defend them both but quickly dropped his guard.  
“To your feet, Agron! Your brother returns.”

With difficulty, Agron stood. Duro was indeed back, but he had not returned under his own steam. Spartacus carried him with the help of another rebel. Agron stumbled as he tried to run across the cisterns and finally fell to his knees in front of Spartacus. Spartacus knelt and lay Duro upon the floor.

“He lives,” Spartacus whispered to Agron. “Though he clings to it with the very tips of his fingers.”

Duro's chest bore several cuts. The worst of which had been bound tightly with bright red sashes adorned with gold thread and tiny, shining, shards of precious stones. Agron touched his brother's cheek. Duro's eyes opened for a moment before closing.

“Anyone trained as medicus attend me now!” Spartacus bellowed.

Agron was moved away as people crowded around Duro, their own medicus from the ludus among them. He slumped but found himself buoyed up in Barca's arms. 

“Come sit with us, rest, have your own wounds tended to,” he said softly. “They will do what they can.”

Agron nodded and allowed Barca to lead him to a quiet corner where Pietros waited. He sat down gratefully between them both but could not take his eyes from the group around his little brother. He had to live. There was no other choice. He couldn't have made it this far and not live. And where was his rescuer? The man who had paused long enough to tightly wrap his own sashes around the wounds? And how had Duro gained such wounds if the Viper had been with him?

Too many questions, and Agron could not find energy to give voice to any of them. Instead he sat with Barca and Pietros glued to either side of him, closed his eyes, and petitioned the gods to spare both his brother and the Viper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as mentioned, I was back and forth on this. I had thought about bringing Nasir into the Ludus in some way as a fellow gladiator but this way seemed more dramatic, plus I liked the idea that what he does in this chapter (and some stuff that will happen in the next few) is not driven by any kind of prior attachement to Agron or anyone else.


	8. Welcoming a Snake Into the Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gladiators and slaves haven taken refuge in the cisterns under the city and, as the dust settles, plans are put in place for long term survival. 
> 
> Agron finally holds conversation with a man he has wanted to talk to since first laying eyes upon him.

It was not a situation Barca had expected to find himself in. 

When talk of freedom had started, he had naively dreamed of walking off with Pietros to a bright and prosperous future while the villa burned behind them, and in truth Barca still held to the belief that such a thing was achievable if they all went their separate ways. There were only so many troops after all, and they could only go in so many different directions at once. Instead, the reality of his first few hours of freedom had been much the same as his life as a slave. Full of bloodshed and fighting and waiting to hear what brothers had finally fallen in battle.

At least the ludus had kept Pietros relatively safe. He was never expected to fight in the arena and there was a hierarchy that kept pawing hands at bay. Now, those assurances were gone. Pietros had already whetted his blade with more blood than he had ever seen before in his twenty odd years and, much to Barca's surprise, appeared to bear the act in his stride. Perhaps he did not need to fear overmuch about other men forcing themselves upon his love after all.

Agron was another matter entirely. The man had always shown remarkable physical and mental strength, even when things were put in place in the ludus to separate the bonds of blood between him and Duro, but now he whimpered in his sleep and tears came often. He had only allowed himself to succumb to sleep after Barca promised time and again that he would remain awake and rouse him if there was any change in Duro. They lay now in the dark corner. Pietros slumbering with his back to the wall and Agron in a deep, exhausted sleep between them. They had fallen asleep in a loose embrace that Pietros tightened for a moment every time a whimper or sniffle was heard from Agron.

No, this was not the ideas Barca had entertained at all. He had thought he and Pietros would be making love heedless of other people overhearing or having to comply to the schedules of other men. There would be none of that, not here in the damp, cold cisterns where everyone was piled on top of everyone else. There had not even been time to share words alone since Spartacus had cleared the balcony at the villa.

Footsteps approaching drove Barca and others to their feet and their number bristled with weapons. The tension did not fully release with the Sand Viper appeared, bloodied and clearly leaning on his spear as he walked and stopped in front of Spartacus who had approached him. Barca left Agron in the safe hands of Pietros, who had awoken as soon as sword was drawn, and joined Crixus by Spartacus's side.

The Sand Viper flicked his spear and the head skewered on the top flew off. It rolled to a stop in front of the three men, its mouth and eyes still contorted in the surprise and terror he had felt upon his death.

“I bring you evidence of my allegiance to your cause,” the Sand Viper said. His voice, though audibly exhausted, still carried a hard edge.

Spartacus toed at the head of the Viper's former dominus. “So Solonius too has fallen this day.”

“And many others of his ilk,” the Viper growled. “I would pledge my spear to your cause.”

Barca smirked. There was no way he was going to refuse, not when their numbers had become swollen with ordinary slaves. In fact, if Spartacus had any sense he would instal Tiberius as his right hand man. But perhaps this was too much of a leap of faith for someone they did not know.

“I trust bringing this trophy did not result in a trail leading here?” Spartacus asked.  
“You think me fucking fool?” Tiberius hissed. 

Spartacus smiled. “In that case I welcome you, brother Tiberius. You are welcome to your share from what little food and water we have.”

The Viper nodded and wandered away, still leaning on his spear. His mask cracked for a moment and the true extent of his pain leaked through, but it was gone before Barca could say anything.

“We are too many mouths,” Crixus cautioned. “We cannot keep picking up stray dogs.”

“Tiberius is a valuable asset,” Spartacus whispered. “We were just discussing the need for fighting men, and Tiberius is not just a fighter, he is lethal. He belongs with us.”

Crixus nodded. “And still we must find food and water for the others. We need to gather strength before continuing the hunt for Naevia.”

“The city is ransacked,” Barca said. “A small number of us, suitably disguised, could raid the homes for supplies while chaos still rules. Every slave here could offer valuable insight on the best way to access the food stores in their respective houses.”

Spartacus nodded. “Gather however many you need to aid you in this task and see it done.”

Barca set to his task right away. He spoke to a few of the slaves and even had some offer help to him in bring supplies back. In short time he had six others, four women and two men, to aid him. Women would seem less of a threat to the soldiers and could pass relatively unnoticed compared to men, especially those of Barca's stature. The last piece of the puzzle was the Viper. Strong, deadly, yet completely non threatening if Barca could find the right clothes and persuade him to allow all his hair to hang free. When he approached the man, however, it was clear he was in no fit state to aid anyone.

“Have the medicus see to your wound before it festers.” Barca gestured to the sizeable cut in the Vipers thigh. “We cannot afford to see strength such as yours wither away.”

The Viper nodded and grit his teeth as he walked away in the direction Barca pointed him in. Devoid of the weapon he had most hoped for Barca joined his little band of rebels and led them out into the night and prayed for their safe return.

#

Agron awoke suddenly and found himself sitting up with every muscle on fire. Pietros was at his side immediately, whispering soothing words and urging him to rest, but Agron was already pushing himself to his feet and stumbling as he wound his way to where the medicus had set up his treatment space. Duro lay on the floor, there was nothing to raise him up on, but someone had given up a cloak for him to lay upon. The sashes had been removed and a the cut that ran diagonally from his shoulder and across his breastbone gaped like a yawning mouth around the poultice that sat inside it. 

Heedless to everyone else around him, Agron knelt by Duro's side and took his clammy hand in his. He brought it to his mouth and held it there, lips pressed to bruised knuckles.

“How does he fare?”

Agron looked up into the eyes of the Viper who sat a little bit away from Duro, against the wall, his right leg stretched out in front of him.

“I do not know,” Agron whispered. “Gratitude for bringing him here.”

The viper shrugged. “I made a promise. I regret not making better time however.”

Agron could only nod. “It is not your fault.”

“I know, but regret remains all the same.” He pulled the wrappings on his leg a little tighter and grit his teeth. “He fought well, and killed two soldiers before he was struck.”

Agron allowed himself a smile against his brothers fingers. “He learned how to fight too late.”

Tiberius looked away and fiddled with the bandages around his thigh once more. Most of his armour lay by his side and the spearhead was visible beside his right foot.

“How did you come to escape in your full armour?” Agron asked, unable to keep his curiosity quiet any longer.

“Some men have strange hungers,” Tiberius muttered. He grit his teeth and clutched at his ribs but after a careful breath seemed to relax. “Like the supposed danger of fucking a fully armoured and armed gladiator.”

Agron winced at the image that filled his minds eye. “I am surprised a man as deadly as you would allow such a thing.”

The look he was thrown turned his insides to ice. He looked away and concentrated on his brothers face instead. He rested as if sleeping normally. His breathing was even, his eyes lightly closed. Perhaps he would heal. Crixus had been dealt worse by Theokales and stood a warrior once more. Duro would live to fight another day.

Agron turned, feeling eyes upon him. The Viper did not look away but offered him a little smile, perhaps signifying his careless words no longer mattered. The dim candle light in the cisterns seemed to make his dark eyes glitter, and even soiled with the blood of other men and with his hair in sticky disarray there was something intriguing about him, something...

Beautiful. That was the only word for him, and continuing to deny it to himself didn't make it any less true.

“Is there anything you need,” Agron whispered. “it's best you stay off your injured leg for now.”

The Viper appeared to think for a moment. “Water if there is any to spare. Make sure the children and the injured have what they need first.”

Agron nodded. A warm feeling settled in his chest at those words. It was rare to find a man with such principles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure Nasir comes off right here, but then he is a different man to what he is in the actual series. Anyway, things will calm for a bit and some chapters will be mostly talk but then its back to action :)


	9. A warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worried deeply about his injured brother, Agron turns his anger against the mysterious Viper. Their much needed fleeing of the city once more brings deadly combat down upon the group

Hours passed and there was no change in Duro. Occasionally, the slaves who had branded themselves Medicus pressed a hand to the skin around the largest wound or changed the damp cloth upon his forehead. Agron placed his own palm on Duro's chest just above the cut. It was warmer than further up his chest but not the kind of heat he would expect from a fever. Perhaps his brother had been spared that fate.

But in the darker moments, when despair rose in him and his brother's flesh seemed an inferno that not even Neptune could provide water enough to quench, his eyes strayed to the blood spattered spear that lay within easy reach of the Vipers right hand, and thoughts of poison consumed him.

In those same gloomy moments Agron wiggled fingers in the holes of the Viper's story, which had been delivered more through actions than words. By his own admission, he had spent the evening being fucked by some Roman, perhaps Solonius himself, or at least that had been the plan, he had maybe escaped before penetration could occur. Agron had seen him in the streets long before even Duro had made it back with Spartacus to the cisterns and there had been no head on his spear or hanging by its hair from his belt then. Had he returned to his ludus to retrieve it? And why had he handed over his brother to Spartacus and left without a word? Maybe there had been no handover at all. Perhaps Spartacus had come upon Duro, with wounds hastily bound, in the street?

Agron threw a scowl at Tiberius. His motives were unclear. No other man had thought to bring proof of his loyalty. Was the Viper really so damaged that he believed no man worthy of trust? Or was the head a distraction and his brother the real ticket the Viper had used to gain entry to their little group?

Agron refused to sleep, but found passages of time moving without his knowledge. On one such occasion, a soft singing reached his ears before he was fully awake. He did not understand the words but the tone was soothing. He opened his eyes to the Viper leaning against the cistern wall with a hand gently clasping Duro's ankle.

“Do not touch him,” Agron growled.

The Viper slowly removed his hand and all the while his gaze bored into Agron's very soul. Agron moved closer to his brother and took his hand once more. The Viper's eyes remained on him.

“Why did you save him?” Agron asked, his voice still harsh.

The only answer was silence.

“He told me you missed your strike on purpose and that you told him to yield.” Agron leaned closer and hissed the words low enough that no one would be able to hear. “Why are you doing such things?”

Tiberius did not speak nor did he look away. In his eyes was nothing but fire and rage and, after a shorter time than he would have liked, Agron was compelled to look away. He tried to dismiss the Viper from his thoughts and concentrate on his brother but his presence was much larger than his frame and Agron's prickled with it. 

With a sharp hiss, the Viper got to his feet. He stumbled as soon as he put weight on his injured leg and Agron moved as fast as his bruised body would let him and caught his arm. Tiberius snatched it back and bared his teeth at him. Agron flinched back, a reflex he had not found himself under the influence for a long time.

Without a word, Tiberius once again got to his feet, this time with the aid of his spear, and, step by halting step, walked away from the medicus' area of the cisterns.

“Fucking snake,” Agron muttered under his breath.

He returned to Duro's side. His brothers eyes darted under closed lids and his breathing was a little quicker. Minute movements in his fingers and face gradually grew stronger until his eyes fluttered open. Agron's breath caught in his throat as he grabbed Duro's hand before he could disturb the poultice on his chest and croaked out his name.

“Agron,” Duro sighed with relief. “I dreamed you gone from me.”

“It is you who was almost gone from the world,” Agron whispered against the lump in his throat. He held his brother's hand to his cheek.

Duro smiled. “Do you weep for me, brother?”

Agron smiled. A few tears escaped to run down his face but swallowed hard to hold a sob back. “My tears are only due to the knowledge I have to endure your fucking foolishness once more.”

Duro's laugh quickly became a pained cough. Agron looked around, but there was no water left. Just as he was making his apologies to leave and fetch water the Viper appeared once more and knelt by Duro's side. 

“Drink,” he said firmly. “It's water.”

Agron snatched the cup from the Viper's hands sniffed the liquid, then tasted a little on his finger. “He speaks truth. Drink.”

Duro rolled his eyes but leaned forward to drink from the proffered cup. Tiberius left without uttering a word. 

“He is not our enemy,” Duro whispered.

“We do not know him.” 

“Same could be said for any number of the men here, some of whom we have fought in the arena.” He drew in breath sharply and grit his teeth. 

Agron offered him the cup and Duro drank once more. “The others do not hover by your bedside nor do they have knowledge of poisons.”

“Sieze fucking sense,” Duro grumbled. “The man saved my life out there, to the detriment of himself, or did you miss how he falters when he walks?”

“He left you in the street to die!”

“No!” Duro snapped. A pained cry followed, loud enough to bring the medicus to his side. Agron was shooed out of the way despite protests and could only watch as the medicus checked his wounds, repacked the poultice where he deemed it was needed, and gave him a sleeping draft to help with the pain.

“We need to find more supplies,” the medicus grumbled when Agron ventured closer once more. “I grabbed what I could when you placed siege upon the house, but it will not be enough.”

Agron cast his eyes over the people crammed into the cisterns. “It is not the only supplies we will soon need.”

#

“We must move,” Crixus demanded. “There is word of Naevia in a villa on the outskirts of the city, and I will not wait any longer.”

“Agreed,” Barca said. “Eventually the guards will search here, and while we have the knowledge of this place on our side for the moment we stand chance of being hemmed in.”

Spartacus listened and nodded as they spoke. “I have waited longer than I would have liked due to the wounded, but any who are still of this world now stand good chance of remaining in it. Spread the word, we will move out as soon as all are ready. Crixus, gather the best fighting men and secure the villa for our arrival. We will be ready to leave upon return of a messenger from your group.”

Crixus nodded and set about finding his team. Barca watched him for a moment before turning back to Spartacus.

“Some of the wounded will not make it from here under their own power, Duro and the young woman we pulled from under the roof of the whore house among the worst.”

“We will carry them, or help as needed,” Spartacus said. “I will ask Mira to turn to women to binding wounds with whatever we have. The rest of us will prepare to move with whatever we can still carry.”

“I pray we all see the end of this day, and the next.”

Spartacus smiled. “And many more besides. We have come too far now to fail here.”

#

One by one, the small groups filed out of the cisterns under cover of darkness using a gate Mira had found that led into the rolling fields and forests outside of the city. Agron carried his brother on his back. Despite his own pain he would suffer no one else to do it, and his legs still worked so there was no danger to anyone else in him ferrying his brother to safety. The Viper kept pace with them, his face a grim mask of determination and barely concealed agony. Words of encouragement died on Agron's lips. The Viper would not want to know that others knew he was in pain.

The Viper stopped suddenly. The group ground to a halt around him. There was no sound in the forest, the leaves on the ground muffled even the noise of their feet but men like Agron knew on some instinctual level when danger was near. He knelt and gently set Duro down. His brother, who had refused all pain relief in favour of clear mind for the journey, remained seated but with his sword clasped tightly in his hand.

“To the middle,” Agron whispered, directing the small group of those who were injured or untrained into the centre of a circle made by fighting men. There were but five of them, and of the five Agron and the Viper were wounded. The other three were gladiators from other ludus'. Though they bore cuts and scrapes they were superficial.

A twig snapped a little bit away in the darkness. Agron gripped his sword and felt for dagger hilt in his subligaria with his other hand. His breathing fell into its calm, deliberate pattern it affected before battle in the arena, but never had more been at stake than it was now.

The soldiers broke out as one. Any hopes they had of surrounding the rebels were quickly squashed as the initial charge fell quickly to sword and spear. The Viper fought viscously despite his injury, though he moved with less finesse than Agron was used to seeing. His aim was pretty much perfect, puncturing necks, smashing skulls, and delivering instant death in as little moves as he could manage. 

A scream from the centre of their circle tore Agron's attention away from foe and Viper alike. One of the soldiers had a women by the hair. She was old enough to be their mother and still he showed her no respect as he dragged her away from the hands of the others who sought to keep her safe. Agron dived forward, but before he could make a blow another blade arced upward and severed the soldiers arm at the elbow.

Duro struggled to his feet, bloodied sword arm hanging by his side and blood oozing around the poultice in his chest. 

“Get down!” Agron demanded. He thrust his sword deep into the chest of the wounded soldier, finishing him off. “I will not see you injured again.”

“I can fight!” Duro snapped. “I am a warrior just like you.”

“You are wounded! Remain with the others and only raise sword if circumstances demand it!” 

Agron could spare the argument no more time. He jumped into battle once more, slashing and hacking wherever he saw Roman armour. One gladiator fell with a blade in his neck. Another lost use of his sword arm after a strike to the bicep, but the soldiers were falling faster, just not fast enough!

A roar further into the forest paused the fighting for a moment, to the soldier's detriment. The group that had gone before turned back in force, swords raised high as they crashed into the soldiers. Spartacus slew his way to the centre of the group and ordered the non combatants out in the cover of fighting men from his own group. Revitalised by their appearance, Agron attacked with more vigour, taking on two soldiers at once.

“Agron!” 

Agron turned and fell to the ground as someone collided with his chest. Iron clashed so hard above his head that sparks flew but, with another impossibly powerful blow, the head of the soldier flew off, severed by Duro's blade.

The dying man's arm swung widly, his blade still clasped in a death grip. Agron swung his blade up to parry.

The roar of victory echoed in the forest but Agron did not raise voice to meet it. A hand on his back shocked him back into reality and he turned to gaze into the eyes of the Viper, the only other person who seemed to have witnessed the event that had stunned Agron into mute numbness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this is weak but the next chapter is such a big part in my head that I feel I have to leave it the way I have. Its another cliffhanger of sorts, apologies, though one most people will be able to guess at I think.


	10. Pyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron turns his rage and grief upon the Sand Viper and learns something about the intriguing young man in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for major character death (which has now been added to the tag)

“You fought well today,” Agron whispered in his mother tongue. “A true warrior, one worthy of their own title.” He turned to his brother and smiled. “Perhaps a similar one to mine? Wolf pup of Germania.” He laughed. “You know I jest, do not cast me that look. We will think of a name for you.” He patted Duro's hand. “We...we will give you a name that will fall from the lips of people for eternity.”

“Agron?” Spartacus whispered. “To whom do you speak?”

“My brother, of course,” Agron said. He patted Duro's hand again and refused to recoil from the clammy cold that had settled in his flesh. “It is a blessing to speak without interruption.”

Spartacus stepped closer. “He is a true warrior. A credit to you and your family.”

Agron bit the inside of his cheek. His eyes burned with tears that would not fall. “Had he not been wounded, first of all by that fucking snake and then by whomever struck him on the streets then he could have... he would have...” His throat burned. He took a few deep breaths to centre himself but the pain would not leave.

Spartacus knelt next to where Agron sat. “That he did such a thing with injuries such as his is remarkable. We all underestimated him, and for that I offer my apologies, though I know they will do nothing to ease your heart now.”

Agron wanted to reply but he did not have the words to, not in any language he knew. He leaned into Spartacus when the Thracian's arm slipped around his back.

Enough wood has been gathered,” Spartacus whispered. “We will bring him out whenever you are ready.”

Agron nodded against Spartacus' forehead but still he could not speak. Words did not seem to be needed, however. After a moment Spartacus rose.

“I shall leave you and your brother to talk. Do not rush such a thing. We remain here and ready when needed.”

Agron looked back at his brother. He had placed cloak over his body, hiding the killing blow which had split his belly. A death blow from a dead man. Some awful irony was at play. Only Duro's face was uncovered, dark eyes forever closed, mouth frozen in a strange ghost of a smile. With a deep breath Agron got to his feet.

“I have set you all to needless task for me today, I will not have you wait any longer on my account.” He covered his brothers face then lifted him in his arms as if he was carrying a small child. 

His knees shook under the weight but he persevered, carrying his brother through the waiting crowd to the pyre. He would not be the only occupant. Others had fallen this day who meant just as much to other people and they did not have the luxury of time or resources for separate funerals. He placed Duro onto the top with the other fallen and stepped back.

The words that were spoken about each person did not permeate the fog he stood in nor could he speak what he wanted to say about his little brother aloud. Spartacus spoke for him, as did Pietros and Mira, and others he couldn't quite recognise through the haze, but none of them knew who Duro was before the Romans dragged them here. They did not know the carefree child with the thick, curly hair that was such a bane to their mother, due to tangling and collecting all sorts of debris, that she sheared him like a little sheep twice a year. They would never hear the stories from their early lives that sounded dull on Agron's tongue yet vibrant, legendary almost, in Duro's mouth.

Perhaps that was how things were meant to be?

As soon as the fire rose Agron retreated back into the villa, unable to stomach the smell nor the thought of flames charring his brothers flesh. The rooms were cool and quiet. Agron rested against a cold wall and breathed.

Faltering steps echoed on the stone floor. The Viper startled at the sight of him but quickly recovered.

“Apologies. I did not mean to intrude,” he whispered. 

“You do not join the others?”

Tiberius shook his head. “I stayed for the words. The fire is...”

“Unnecessary to witness?” Agron offered.

“For some, yes.” The Viper offered him a small smile. “He was a good man, your brother, and strong.”

Agron snorted. “You did not know him.”

“Not well, admittedly bu--”

“Not at all,” Agron snapped. “He was sent to die at your hand, he did not, but you injured his shoulder. In Capua he sustained further injury while with you and again survived only to die from a sword strike from a man already dead! And once more you were there.”

“As were you, as were others,” Tiberius snarled. “What do you accuse me of?”

Agron chewed his lip for a moment. “I do not understand motive! Why, after killing so many mercilessly, did hand falter over my brother? Why did you insist of going after him, binding his wounds, and singing to him while he lay injured?”

“He deserved to live and I did what I could for him,” the Viper said. “Why does this matter so much?”

“And that was all? No other man you faced deserved such mercy?”

The Viper fell back into his usual silence and, from the set of his jaw, his teeth clenched tightly.

“Silence?” Agron snorted a laugh. “Will you not even give me the comfort of knowing why he meant so much to you that you let him live?”

Tiberius did not speak. His hand on his spear trembled, as did his jaw. Agron gripped him by the shoulders and shook him, hard.

“Speak!” Agron roared. “Why did he mean so much to you! A stranger, a rival gladiator! Speak!” He shoved the Viper away so hard that his back struck the wall. Agron turned on his heel and stormed away.

He could barely see. Tears crowded his eyes and flowed freely down his cheeks. He wandered until he found himself in a room and could go no further. A Dominus' bedroom? Agron laughed through his tears. 

“I did not do it for him!” The Viper yelled. 

Agron tensed at the fury in his voice but faced him all the same. His left hand curled around the dagger hilt, its blade still hidden in his subligaria. “Then what prompted you to do such a thing?”

“Why does it matter?!” The Viper roared. “He was spared, as all should have been when forced to fight.”

“So you would have spared anyone who stood in Duro's place?”

The Viper's scowl softened. “I do not know.”

“Then why?” The growl seemed pulled from the very depths of the underworld itself. “Did you think him weak? Powerless? Unworthy of a true fight?”

“No!”

“Did you desire him? Such a thing would turn a man's heart to mercy as quick as yours was.”

Tiberius rolled his eyes. “Your brother was a handsome man, but in much the same way as a flower holds beauty or a sunset wonder. I spared him because he deserved to live as I have already said!”

“But why him?! Out of all of them, why did he deserve life.”

“Because...” the Viper trailed off, his dark eyes brimmed with tears. “Because no one stayed their hand when I cried out for my brother!”

Agron's rage dissipated in seconds. “Your brother?”

Tiberius nodded. “I did not do this thing for Duro, though upon getting the know the man over the short time allowed I was glad I did. I did it for you. As soon as I heard your voice I knew I would not let you feel this pain!”

“And yet it came to me anyway,” Agron shook his head sadly. “You truly spared him for me?”

“Do not infer connection that is not there!” The Viper spat. “I have no more time for your games.” He turned and struggled to keep in the yelp when he tried to walk.

“Wait, what do you need, I will fetch it.”

“Do not fucking jest,” Tiberius growled. “I would no sooner spend time in your company than in that of those Roman shits.”

Agron shrugged off the pain of those words and placed a hand on the Viper's arm. “Please, allow me to do this for you. This room is comfortable. Rest your leg. And perhaps we can start once more and find ourselves better placed than we are now?”

The Viper chewed his lip then nodded curtly. “I require a poultice for my leg wound. No need for bandages. I will not use up precious resource when my sashes will suffice.” He sat down heavily on the bed and stretched out his leg. The bandages around his thigh were dark with blood.

“I shall see to it,” Agron promised. 

With one final look back at the Viper he made his way through the villa to find the medicus as well as much needed wine and water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny how things always seem to go better in your head. 
> 
> Does Agron come off unfairly jealous? 
> 
> I'm sorry I did this to Duro. I had planned on not having him in the fic at all but then he was there, and then i considered him living all the way through and the ideas in this chapter would not quit. He still died a hero


	11. Blood Red Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Viper needs assistance and, in an effort to make amends for his harsh words, Agron lends aid.

The sight of the wound made Agron's skin crawl. Ragged with repeated movement and thick with congealed blood, it stretched from the inside of his thigh and over onto the front of his leg, ending just above his knee. After what seemed like much internal deliberation, the Viper quietly asked for Agron's help to make it into the bath house just off the former dominus' rooms.

“Do not tell the others I used wine in this way,” he said, a small smile tugging at the sides of his mouth though his eyes remained unchanged.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Agron watched as the wine poured through the wound and left shades darker. “Do you require assistance?”

The Viper shook his head. “What I truly need is something I cannot have. Time to heal. But we must keep moving.”

“I will carry you,” Agron said.

The Viper stared at him for a moment then laughed. “Moments ago you attempted to dash me against a wall, all the while seeking to blame me for your brothers death, now you would act as steed?”

Agron looked down into the bath. It had been empty when they came upon it and the wine seemed as if blood upon the tiles. “I was wrong, deeply wrong. For both my words and laying my hands upon you.”

“Did thoughts of my imagined attachment to your brother pain you in some way?” The Viper's voice was calm, devoid of all harsh edge and mocking tone. He picked fibres from the long discarded bandages out of his torn flesh.

Agron chewed his lip. He had dreamt about this man in so many different ways, some good, some bad, some that left him quaking with desire long after hand had found cock but jealousy? Over a possibility the Viper favoured his brother?

“I do not think so,” Agron finally answered. “I thought your motives tainted somehow. That after you had displayed so much hostility toward us an act of kindness could only be a trick.”

Tiberius lifted the jug of water and flushed out the wound with it. He gritted his teeth hard but a whimper still broke out. Agron fought against every instinct to remain seated.

“I was a rival gladiator. Did you expect anything other than hostility?”

Agron rethought his response a few times before finally deciding the truth was the best option. “I had hoped hostility would not extend to me. Though, yes, I did expect it at first.”

“So it did pain you.” The Viper nodded as if the answer was plain though his eyes were now on the poultice that filled his wound. “I shall be mindful of showing any kind of care towards others in future.” He smiled to soften his words.

“How you act is of no concern to me,” Agron sighed. “Nor should any connection you had been Duro been. I allowed my last days with him to be full of harsh words because of such stupidity.”

“Such are things often between brothers. You did not know he would perish.”

“I should have shown him kindness. I should have extended that to the both of you.” He bowed his head. “He will never know that I did not hate him.”

“It was obvious that you loved him to anyone that cared to look.” The viper tore his sashes and began to wrap his leg. “Your brother knew and he would not have thanked you for acting out of character just because he was injured, so it seemed to me, at least, who barely knows you.”

“Would your own brother have been the same?”

“Can you help me up?” Tiberius said and showed no intention of answering the question. 

Dutifully, Agron aided the Viper in standing and kept an arm around him as they made their way back into the bedroom. He did not stop to sit on the bed, however, but took a few steps towards the doorway.

“Where are you going?” Agron asked.

“To see of what use I can be. The hour is not that late yet.” The Viper smiled.

Agron rolled his eyes. “Will it take severing the whole leg for you to stop? Rest and be better placed to fight tomorrow.”

Tiberius made his way back to the bed, sat down and, with difficulty, raised his leg onto the bed. “I am sure I will endear myself to the others by commandeering this room.”

“There are plenty of other places to sleep that are just as grand,” Agron said with a smile. “As long as you don't head straight for the most opulent space at the next villa then they will like you well enough.”

He waited in the silence that followed, an uncomfortable place between wanting to stay and wanting nothing but his own company. Tiberius' eyes darted about the room. He cleared his throat.

“I shall stay close by, so you can call if you need assistance,” Agron said, fearing the throat clearing was a signal for him to leave.

“Or you can remain here, if you trust I will not slip you poison in your sleep,” the Viper said. He winked.

Agron smiled. “I fear I would not be good company.”

“I do not require entertainment just a way to stand without bending my knee and bursting my hard work open again. There is plenty bedding to share or...” He patted the bed next to him.

After a moment Agron lay down. Never in his life had he lain upon something so comfortable and his sore muscles thanked him for it. The bed was so big that, though he could feel the heat from Tiberius next to him they lay on their backs without physically touching.

“Gratitude,” Agron whispered. “For your forgiveness.”

“And I extend my gratitude to you as well,” the Viper whispered. “For giving me second chance.”

“All ill intention on your part was my own fabrication. I will not see you suffer for it.”

“Do you wish to speak about him?” the Viper whispered after a while. “Duro?”

Agron's chest tightened at the thought. “Not tonight.”

Silence fell but it was comfortable. Agron's thoughts returned to the bath and the chance to rid himself of the blood, not just his, that was spattered all over him, but his body refused to cooperate. A weariness hit him like he had never felt before and, when he was on the edge of sleep, the Viper's hand found his arm in the darkness and his fingers lingered against the pulse point in his wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really not sure if this is too quick for them to make amends or to be as close as they are but with so much going on I think both of them have the personalities that would make them extend help to someone who needs it, even if that means sharing a bed with a grieving man who is a relative stranger.
> 
> Plus, they get together really quick in the show too.
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying this still and thank you all so so much for continuing to read and comment and all that.


	12. Delicate Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barca voices an unpopular opinion and finds himself on the receiving end of nasty looks and grumbled comments due to it. After fulfilling his duties to the villa and the other rebels he seeks solace in the arms of his love.

Duty kept Barca away from the one place he wanted to be but as one of the strongest among their number and as someone who had not actually lost anyone he was close to in last few days he put himself at Spartacus' disposal for as long as needed.

It was probably best he was out of the way. He had counselled against the pyre and advocated leaving the bodies where they fell and the others had turned on him. Spartacus remained silent. His heart was too soft when faced with weeping women.

Barca paced the walls with a handful of others while the pyre burned. Thankfully, it did not serve as beacon to soldiers as Barca had feared. Still, the damage was done, and when he was finally relieved of his watch there were more looks of contempt than kindness, or even in indifference. And still he allowed duty to keep him from his heart though his chest grew tight and his jaw clenched painfully. 

He fetched and carried for those who needed it, spent time with the medicus, offering strength to the ghastly task of relocating joints that had popped and manipulating bones back inside the skin so the medicus could bind them effectively, and saw to it that all had space in the villas many rooms though few words of thanks were given.

Finally, weary, stinking of smoke and blood, and his mood dark after the treatment others had bestowed on him, he made use of the bathhouse. It was not the luxurious affair he had hoped for, and due to the others trying to cleanse skin of the stains of the day, it was more like using the gladiators wash room, but the mere act of being able to rest in water which still held a little bit of warmth from when it had first been filled was an unexpected treat.

Scrubbed clean, Barca found the room he had claimed as his and Pietros' It was a small room, but from the rich furnishings it was most likely a room for favoured guests, and for a gladiator and a former slave it was the height of decadence.

Barca stepped into the room ready to take Pietros into his arms, and stopped. “Pietros?” he whispered.

Pietros looked up. “Apologies,” he said and made a visible effort to stop crying but it didn't stop. 

Barca sat on the bed beside him and gathered him into his arms. “Are you injured?”

“No, nothing more than a scratch,” Pietros mumbled. “You spoke truth, I am too a delicate thing.”

“Because you weep?” Barca kissed his forehead

Pietros nodded. “I cry for those who died, for those who survived, and for those I put an end to myself, even though they would have caused me and others I care for harm if I had not.” Again, he took a deep breath and sniffed. “I must harden heart, set mind to task of fighting for our freedom but I cannot find a way to make it stop.”

“No,” Barca cradled Pietros' face in his hands. “You took my words as criticism when none was meant. A delicate disposition is needed. You bring hope when all I bring is fear. They think me monster, a chained beast whose claws may one day turn on them.

“They are wrong,” Pietros nuzzled his nose against Barca's. “If only they knew your heart as I do.”

“It was but shrivelled and dead until you breathed life into me once more.” He kissed Pietros on the forehead then on the end of his nose. “My love.” More kisses fell on both tear stained cheeks. “My brave, gentle hearted love. Please do not change. There are enough cruel men like me.”

“You are not cruel.” Pietros smiled as their lips met. “And I am not brave.”

“Oh but you are.” He kissed Pietros again. “You raised sword in defence of those that could not. You spoke words for the dead when their own flesh and blood were grieving too much to do so, and after all the pain and cruelty dealt you in your life you still have the capacity to feel so deeply that it brings tears to your eyes.” Their lips met for a third time but lingered longer than before. “You are the bravest man I have ever met. Do not ever allow anything in this cruel world to harden your heart.”

“My love,” Pietros sighed. He wrapped his arms around Barca's neck and kissed him deeply.

Barca pulled Pietros tighter to him before falling back on the bed. Practised hands made short work of the belts and knots that secured clothing and armour alike, and soon every inch of them was exposed to the cool air in the villa. 

They took their time with one another, lavishing kisses and soft touch wherever they could. Barca whispered sweet words against Pietros' neck in between nibbles, praising him for his compassion and delicate heart, reminding him of how precious and rare such a thing was. Pietros kissed him into silence until Barca took the hint and put his mouth to better use around Pietros' cock.

When Barca had dreamed of freedom he had held thoughts of a night such like this. Pietros underneath him, his long legs locked around Barca's waist and his nails biting into Barca's back. He had fantasised about Pietros' voice rising in soft moans as Barca moved deep inside him, but this was better than any dream. 

Tears still fell from Pietros' eyes, though no longer from the dispair he had felt. He mumbled Barca's name in between kisses. Barca rolled to his side, taking Pietros with him, and hugged him close as he moved inside him.

“Never in my life have I felt such love,” he whispered against Pietros' lips. His cock throbbed deep inside his lover. “The gods gift me more than I deserve.”

Pietros reached down between them and wrapped his fingers around his shaft. “The gods see you properly rewarded. It is I they bless beyond reason.”

“Pietros,” Barca purred. Heat pooled deep in his belly and he slowed, willing himself to hold on and let Pietros fall first. “You are slave no longer. See the worth you have always had.”

Pietros' next word were lost in a loud moan. He tensed for a moment then spilled over his hand. Barca covered Pietros' mouth with his and thrust as deep as he could while they lay entangled on their sides. He soon followed Pietros over the edge.

Not long after they slowed to a stop Barca moved them both so Pietros was on his back. He withdrew then bent to kiss the inside of Pietros' thigh. “Apologies.”

Pietros smiled. “You did not hurt me, you never have.”

Barca forced a smile. There were plenty of things Barca had done that he was sure would hurt Pietros, which is why he had not uttered a word of them to his love. “I will not see that change,” he whispered.

“You are always so protective,” Pietros sighed happily. “I hope one day to offer you more than pleasure.”

“You already do.” Barca drew Pietros' hand to his lips and kissed his palm. “Your pure and wonderfully delicate soul is all that prevents me truly becoming a beast.”

Pietros smiled. “That is untrue. You had a kindness in you, well hidden thought it was, before we met.”

Barca lapsed into silence and gazed in Pietros' dark eyes. The weight of years of slavery had beaten every ounce of self assurance from Pietros, and yet he still remained loving and kind.

“When all the fighting is over,” Barca whispered as he stroked Pietros' cheek. “And men like me have passed their use, it is you people will turn to. It is easy to slay a man, but it takes a skill many will never have to heal wounds caused to heart and mind.”

Pietros' heart brimmed with tears once more. “Now who doubts their worth?”

They kissed gently, their tongues slowly lapping over one another. When they parted, Pietros lay his head upon Barca's chest, over his heart.

Barca stared up at the ceiling for long after Pietros' breathing had slipped into the gentle rhythm of sleep. The villa was full of little noises. The slumbering of the other rebels, the scratch of sandals on stone as those set to watch made their rounds, and in some far away corners the sounds of lovemaking floated in softly on the night air. But in more places than any other weeping could be heard.

Safe in the arms of his love, Barca allowed himself to let go of the last scraps of anger he felt over his poor treatment and sought to understand how his fellow rebels felt, and for the first time in years he wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little Bartros (yes i am coining that for the ship. :P) interlude in amongst all the other chaos going on. I was going to put this at the end of the last chapter but that chapter deserved to be Nagron centric the same as this one is Bartros centric :)


	13. Blood on Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Viper is back to almost fighting fit and helps take over the next villa, but comes to blows with Crixus over a moral issue.

It was the seventh villa in as many days that Crixus' quest had dragged them to, and Agron and Tiberius were not the only ones growing fatigued with endless search that kept them circling Capua and the possibility of discovery. Their numbers had grown a little, but none were fighters and only a few would learn the skill with any finesse. They stood chance of being outnumbered.

But one thing gladdened hearts of both Tiberius and Agron. Though wound still needed bound, Tiberius could walk well enough that both he and Agron joined the group raiding the new villa.

They approached under cover of darkness. The Viper was on Agron's left, Crixus to his right. Spartacus led another group moving in a pincer movement toward the villa, and Barca remained with the others to lead in Spartacus' absence and await summons to newest hiding place.

The night was deathly still, a thing that offered no help to the rebels as they moved at pains to avoid any source of noise. The villa itself was lit for the night with low lamps and muffled conversation and the general noise of a house's activities at night. The Viper tapped Agron's shoulder and indicated the high walls. Agron silently alerted Crixus to the same.

There were guards hiding in the shadows around the walls and on the roof, and their appearance meant there could be more on the inside.

The plan did not change. Crixus had his heart set on his course of action.

A wild cry heralded their arrival. The gate splintered under their approach and the house spiralled into panic. The guards surged forward. Tiberius and Crixus were first to strike, their blows deadly and intended to kill as quickly as possible, and as one they both ran deeper into the villa itself. Agron had different intentions. He struck low, spilling guard's entrails onto the courtyard. Skulls smashed against pillars, hurried by his hand upon their face or the back of their head. Some screamed for mercy as fist met their face over and over again until nothing was left but a bloody pulp. Agron laughed.

The Roman occupants fled from the house with Crixus and a few other rebels at their heels, again, they begged for mercy, but as each failed to give up word on Naevia blade was put to throat. The lady of the house clutched a baby to her breast. Crixus stepped forward, sword raised.

A spear blocked the killing blow.

“Get out!” Tiberius roared at the Roman woman. “Get as far away from here as you can. And if soldiers find out position know our reach is long. We will find you, and when we do it will not be you we put an end to!” He pointed the blood soaked head of the spear at the baby.

The woman scrambled to her feet, mumbling gratitudes amongst her tears, and ran through the gates. No one moved to stop her path. Crixus punched Tiberius, hard.

“Treacherous fuck!” He roared. Before the Viper could recover, Crixus had him by the neck and slammed him into a pillar. “Now the whole of Capua will fall upon us.

“She was a mother with a young baby,” Tiberius snarled. “Would you have slain them both?”

“They were Roman!”

“The babe had no choice!”

Agron grabbed Crixus' arm. “Let him go!”

Crixus sneered. “Trust the simple fuck from East of the Rhine to fall for a snake just because he coils around his cock!”

Agron lunged. He and Crixus fell to the ground, trading blows with fists or foot. For a moment, Agron took the upper hand, pinning Crixus down for a moment, but strong arms wrapped around his chest and hauled him off the Gaul.

“Scrapping in the dirt like animals?!” Spartacus roared. “Cease this madness and start securing the villa!”

“We cannot stay here,” Crixus snarled. He swiped at his nose and his hand came away bloody. “The Viper released the domina along with her child!”

“It was a mother and baby!” The Viper snapped. “Are we destroying everyone with the title Roman?”

Spartacus took a deep breath. “Where is this woman?”

“No doubt running towards Capua with news of our position.” Crixus threw a glare at Tiberius.

“I threatened her. All she will want is a safe place for her and her child.”

“And if she does not?”

The two gladiators fell to snarling and squaring up, though Crixus stood almost a head taller than the Viper. Agron moved to intervene when Spartacus did.

“Agron, Tiberius, secure what provisions you can from the house, and quickly. Crixus, come with me.”

Tiberius glared daggers into the Gaul's back until he had moved from sight. “Why did you come to my aid?” He asked without turning to Agron. “Do you think me incapable of fighting the Gaul?”

“No! But you were right,” Agron said. “And even if the full force of Rome falls on us because of it you were still right. None of us want the blood of a child upon our hands and the others needed to know you had support.”

He retreated into the villa to asses the belongings left behind and pack what he could in case they were in need of a hasty retreat. A few moments later Tiberius appeared at his side and silently set to task alongside him.

“It's true,” he said softly.

Agron paused. “What is?”

Tiberius smiled. “The legend Solonius spun, though it didn't happen quite as he said, such is the nature of legends.”

Agron grinned. “I would like to hear the true story someday.”

“We have time to talk right now, don't we?”

“Indeed we do.” 

Agron turned back to packing, as did the Viper, as as they worked Tiberius began the long tale of his life before the Arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little play on the episode in the show where Nasir is liberated and Crixus fights with him over letting the Romans into the villa. Not much else to say on it really lol


	14. Separate Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tired of following Crixus on his search for Naevia, Barca and Agron put in motion a splitting of the group. When the Viper makes his alliance known Agron is not pleased, and the Viper's goodbye gift is the last thing Agron was expecting.

If Agron had been asked, with sword biting into throat, to recount what Tiberius had told him he doubted he would manage more than a few details.

It wasn't that he wasn't interested or didn't understand the show of trust the Viper was putting in him, it was just hard to concentrate on words falling from plump lips ripe for kissing and when beautiful brown eyes danced with merriment as he recounted his past.

Tiberius' voice held a different timbre when they talked together in the quiet moments afforded to them. It was softer with none of his fire or hard edge that he still used around the others. He stumbled over some words in Latin and occasionally swapped them for the equivalent in his own tongue when the language forced upon him failed. And yet he did so without embarrassment, something Agron had not managed when he was first forced to abandon his mother tongue.

What Agron had managed to hear while not distracted by the storyteller sounded like elaborate legends. Tiberius had been snapping at the heels of the Romans since childhood. Orphaned along with a younger brother by a raid on the town he grew up in, it was less than a day before he killed his first soldier by hitting him squarely in the temple with a chunk of stone. Tiberius had not elaborated on how he and the soldier had come to blows but Agron knew enough of what the legions did to conquered cities to imagine all sorts of horrible things.

“My mother knew magic,” he had said one day as they lay down to sleep. “That's what she told me as a child. What she had was knowledge of plant life and how to use their parts for medicines.”

“So you do know poisons?” Agron had said. It was easier to listen in the dark, when other distractions were hidden from him.

Tiberius had fallen silent for a long time. “I made use of the skills I had to survive.”

“I do not judge you for it. You are formidable, a dangerous threat that the Roman's couldn't hope to ignore. Any other man could only hope to be such a threat to an enemy.”

“Spartacus will be, as we will be with him.” The Viper had whispered.

“But you were one man! And not even a man at first but a child!” Agron had moved a little closer to him and said softly. “You are a wonder.”

The Viper had huffed air through his nose then turned away from him. “Goodnight, Agron.”

And that was the way their nights often went. The Viper would open up with his stories, though nothing too revealing, and as soon as Agron pushed their connection a little bit he closed himself off once more. And yet, when his breathing evened out and sleep seemed imminent, the Viper's hand always closed around Agron's wrist as if by instinct.

Perhaps it was simply a comfort for him, a memory of a time with his brother that would have been projected onto any sleeping person by his side and not a sign of attraction between them, as Agron had first believed, nay, hoped. He had met men like him before, naturally tactile and a little flirtatious but all quickly stopped when Agron made a move. He had the Viper's confidence and that was all that mattered.

Outside of their little moments alone things were not well. Crixus dragged their ever increasing number to more villas and even a small guard encampment on the search for Naevia despite arguing with Spartacus and even Barca about the issue. Agron refrained from breaking words about it directly to the Gaul knowing it would do nothing but steel his resolve to continue search, but he made it clear where his loyalties lay and they were behind Spartacus. 

Finally, after an ambush of a merchants convoy in the woods on word they were transporting Naevia and others to the mines they had a definite lead.

“You want to drag everyone to the mines?” Barca snapped. “When we have wounded and weak among out number?”

“And many more we can liberate if we go,” Crixus said. The other Guals and a few others Crixus was close to nodded in agreement.

“We cannot continue this path without a safe place for those of us that cannot fight!” Spartacus added. “We will search for her but we need to provide for these people first.”

Crixus laughed. “You would let her waste away in the mines while you look for this haven?”

One of the gladiators from Solonius' ludus spoke up. “I have heard of a place. There is a temple long abandoned on the lower slopes of Vesuvius.”

“How did you come to know of this place?” Spartacus asked.

“Before I was sold to Solonius I worked with a shepherd. We often passed the ruins when driving the sheep further into the mountains. There was never anyone there, and the building remained unchanged for many years.”

Spartacus nodded. “We shall move towards it. How many days do you think it will take us to travel there?”

The gladiator shrugged. “It has been many years. If memory serves then a day perhaps, two at most.”

“And the same on return journey and three more to the mines.”Crixus grumbled. “I will not leave Naevia in their clutches a moment longer!”

“We must protect those we already know are living,” Barca said.

“Of course you would say such a thing when your boy can barely lift sword in defence,” Crixus mocked. 

Barca snarled. “We did not free ourselves from bondage for the sole purpose of following scent of your woman! I will head to Vesuvius and seek out validity of claims on this temple. Anyone who is with me raise hand.”

The rebels immediately descended into chaos with both sides arguing why their course of action was the best. A few fell to blows.

“Enough!” Spartacus roared. “Severing our group in two does indeed seems to be the best course of action but we must see sense when doing so. We cannot leave those going to Vesuvius without adequate protection just so those going to the mines stand better chance of victory.” He turned to Barca. “Barca, I leave you in charge of safely seeing those not going to the mines to the temple. Know this is a grand undertaking, and you may find no haven at all.”

“I will send small party ahead as we have done before. We will make it there unscathed.”

“I shall go with him,” Agron said. The Viper's gaze fell upon him and the look was not a happy one. “No more time should be wasted on pursuit of those already to the afterlife.”

Crixus flexed his fists and stepped forward. “I stand surprised that you flee with tail between legs. Perhaps leaving your brother to die has soured you against further conflict?”

Spartacus moved quickly and caught Agron when he lunged for Crixus. “We all must make choice free of threat and mockery,” he said to Crixus. “And perhaps it would be wise not to antagonise brothers who will be welcoming you back upon return?”

Crixus walked away, smirking. “What say you, little snake?” he said to the Viper. “Do you head for the mines, or remain here with lips around Agron's tiny cock.”

“Do not call me that!” Tiberius said firmly. “Or see help sorely needed taken from you.”

Crixus' smile fell. “You are joining me?”

Tiberius nodded. “But I do this to put end to incessant searching. You have done enough damage to this cause already.”

Rage curled in Agron's belly. He stalked from the room but made sure to catch Tiberius' shoulder on the way out. “Fucking Syrians!” he snapped.

Tiberius followed him deeper into the villa. “I will not take anger meant for the Gaul.”

“It is meant for you!” Agron growled. “Go to him since you wish to follow him.”

“I follow no one! I offer assistance to cause that needs it.”

Agron shook his head. “And we do not need you?”

Tiberius frowned. “Agron, I will return, we all will. I have no doubt of this.”

Agron's chest burned as if he could not take a breath. “And if you do not?”

The Viper frowned, confused. He attempted to speak a few times, seemed to think better of it, and remained silent. Agron turned and walked away.

#

The villa had settled into an uneasy truce after the separate groups had been created. Agron had spent some time with Barca talking about the uncomfortable notion of how they carried on without their leader if he did not make it back. For Agron, it was not just Spartacus that held worry for him. Most of his was trained on the Viper.

A fighter like him did not need Agron's concern, but Agron felt it anyway, and having no patience to cool anger before speaking he had driven Tiberius from their shared space on what could be their last night in each others company. Instead, he lay on the bed alone, stared up at the ceiling, and willed the hours to pass.  
He sat up as footsteps approached and smiled as Tiberius came into view. The Viper held his finger up to his lips signalling Agron not to speak and, slowly, undid his subligaria and let it fall to the floor.

Agron's breath caught in his throat. He eyes roamed over the Viper's body, from his glaring eyes down over his toned chest and flat stomach to the thatch of black hair that surrounded the base of his erect cock. Tiberius gestured for Agron to remove his subligaria and Agron did before sitting back on the bed as directed.

The Viper stepped closer. He trailed his fingers down Agron's arm then took his hand and brought it around to rest on his ass. Agrons fingers dipped down between the Viper's cheeks under the press of his hand. Warm oil coated his fingers.

A finger smooshed against Agron's lips when he tried to speak. Tiberius shoved him back on the bed then kneeled over him. Agron's heart pounded in his chest as the Viper reached back, stroked Agron to full hardness, then guided Agron's cock inside him.

A whine escaped Agron's lips. Tiberius was so tight around him he feared hurting him, but Tiberius did not move slowly or pause for breath. In moments he was riding Agron hard, his head thrown back as he moaned. 

Agron smoothed his hands over the Viper's thighs and up onto his waist. Tiberius held them for a moment before leaning forward over Agron. Their eyes met but only for a second before the Viper's closed and he moaned.

Liquid fire swirled through Agron's body and pooled in his groin. He ran his hands over Tiberius' back, his nails scraping his smooth skin and raising whines from his lover. Words were once again stifled by a hand across his mouth. No, there was no need to speak. What could words say that their actions could not.

Tiberius straightened up once more. His throbbing cock swayed with each thrust and precome leaked from the tip. He closed his thin fingers around it and stroked in time with his thrusts. Agron could not tear his eyes away, even as Tiberius' movements fell out of time and he spilled over his fingers. Agron followed mere seconds after. He pulled Tiberius down on top of him, hugging him close as they rode out their orgasm together.

Tiberius' hand fell over his mouth once more, ruining Agron's attempt to kiss him. He smiled and, behind the press of his hand, Agron grinned. 

With a whine, Tiberius got up from the bed. Agron sat up and watched as the Viper got dressed once more. He smiled, but not in a way Agron had seen before. It seemed to light up his whole face. Once fully dressed he looked towards the doorway.

“If I do not return,” Tiberius said, his voice barely above a whisper. “At least you now know.”

Without further explanation, Tiberius left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last section of this was hotter in my head, lol.
> 
> So yeah, this is kinda running canon adjacent for some stuff, and I have just realized I do not have a POV character in the mines if i want to write that side. Maybe I will do a one time POV?
> 
> Chap was intentionally ended without Agron's reaction to the sexy times.


	15. Spit In The Face Of The Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The groups go their seperate ways and Agron talks to Barca about matters of the heart

He now knew what?

Agron mulled the words over all night but could find no real answer among several possibilities. He now knew the Viper was attracted enough to him to fuck him, at least once and when his death could be imminent, but he had not stayed the night when they had slept close to one another since gaining freedom. Why did he throw himself upon Agron's cock but deny him the simple pleasures of a kiss?

Perhaps he simply meant that Agron now knew there was no ill will in the Viper for him despite harsh words unfairly turned against him. But why fuck him just to prove that point?

There were several possibilities, each with its own merit and problems, and there was no way to know what Tiberius had meant until he returned.

Maybe that was what he meant? To leave an unanswered riddle as proof he would return from the mines? And perhaps the sex was proof of that too, because what kind of cruel person would forge such a connection if they believed they could die? Especially with someone who had so recently lost the most important person in the world to them?

Morning brought no answers. Tiberius remained with the group headed for the mines, preparing weapons and what armour they had for the journey. He spared Agron a smile when their eyes met and Agron fancied there was a little something different about that look, a fondness maybe, a warmth that had suddenly blossomed after the previous night, but perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

With friction still sparking between the two groups, only Agron, Spartacus, and Barca took the time to say goodbyes. Agron's eyes strayed often to Tiberius. Though the Viper smiled he made no move to approach Agron and share parting words, so Agron too remained in place though his throat burned with the things he wanted to share.

Spartacus' hand clasped his shoulder. “He shall return to you.”

“I pray to the Gods that you all shall, though I prayed harder that you would see sense before leaving.”

Spartacus smiled. “We must see Naevia back in Crixus' arms if we can manage it. We would do the same for any we held dear to our hearts.”

Agron nodded. Would he be doing the same if it was Duro they were searching for? Pain squeezed his ribs at the very thought of his little brother but he could not safely say he would do the same as Crixus.

Perhaps he would never know until he was put into the Gaul's position.

Not long after Spartacus and Crixus led the way to the mines Barca and Agron split their own group into two for safer, less obvious, travelling and started out for the low slopes of Vesuvius. They moved to the forest as soon as they could and travelled swiftly under cover of the trees.

#

Barca hated the weight of leadership but assumed it absent choice. Pietros marched by his side, his eyes ever searching the dappled sunlit forest, ears ever seeking sound of Romans. The gladiator who had spoken of the temple, an Athenian by the name of Demosthenes, walked on the other side of Barca and directed the group as best he could.

Occasionally, Barca marked a tree with their previously agreed upon symbol so Agron could follow them. They rested occasionally to replenish strength but kept a good pace and, before long, the ground was rising under their feet as they began their ascent of the volcano.

Under cover of darkness they came across it. Agron held the group in the safety of the forest until Agron caught up then called the German to his side.

“Fighting men should search the temple first,” Barca said. “The forest will suffice as bed for the night if we find it crawling with Roman shits.”

Agron nodded. “I will go and take a handful of men with me.”

“I will come with you. Pietros will have charge of the group will we are gone.”

Pietros, who was by Barca's side as always, shared a look of shock with Agron. “I am no leader.”

“No man is born to it,” Barca said with a smile. “My heart, all I ask is that you keep these people calm until we return. You have knowledge enough of war that you can call the men we will leave behind into fighting position if need be and all those who carry weapon are trained enough to fall to defence with little direction.” He took Pietros' hands in his. “Pietros, see the worth you have always had.”

A blush rose in Pietros' cheeks that caused Barca to smile. 

Pietros leaned in close. “Do not think uttering words first said in passion upon shared bed make what you say more palatable.” He grinned, perhaps to soften his words.

Barca kissed him. “If you truly do not feel up to this task then we will appoint someone else. There is no shame in knowing our limits.” He smiled. “We shall speak of this again before we leave and I will hear your final answer on it then.”

Pietros nodded and headed away. A sour expression passed over Agron's face but the German had controlled it before meeting Barca's eye. With more important things to do Barca decided to discuss the look later.

#

The gods were with them.

Barca, Agron, and their small band of fellow gladiators found the temple empty and clearly untouched for many a year. Once it had been thoroughly searched Barca sent back an envoy to bring Pietros, who had elected to take charge of the group still in the woods. While waiting for their arrival Barca set the others to work securing the temple and clearing debris from its rooms. It was large, bigger than most of the villas they had stayed in, but its condition left a lot to be desired.

Barca found Agron shifting parts of the fallen roof in one of the rooms and silently worked alongside him before speaking.

“Do you desire Pietros?” 

Agron choked on a laugh. “No! Pietros is... he is a handsome man, but I do not desire him.”

Barca nodded. “Then do you desire me?”

Agron's confused look answered his question. “Why do you ask such things?”

“I saw the look you cast earlier,” Barca said. “If it is not jealousy then does something else trouble you.”

Agron appeared to war with himself for a moment. “I would take your confidence on something, but it must go no further.”

Barca frowned. “I am no gossipy woman!”

“And still I must have your assurance!”

Barca nodded. Agron seemed truly troubled. “Speak, brother.”

Agron chewed his lip. “I fear I may have entered into something I am not prepared for.”

“It is too late to wish to return to slavery,” Barca joked. “I find it hard to believe there are many things you cannot handle.”

“This concerns matters I am not overly familiar with. I have formed an attachment to someone I know little of and who is reluctant to share more with me yet, last night, we lay together.” Agron sighed heavily. “They did not remain by my side afterwards despite sharing sleeping space with me since leaving the ludus, nor did they offer words of farewell. I do not know where I stand with him nor how to proceed upon his return.”

“Did you want to lie with this man?” Barca asked. He knew better than to assume Agron's size and fighting prowess removed the danger of molestation.

“Yes. I have wanted this since I first laid eyes upon him. I just expected... more...”

Agron set back to the task of shifting rocks, his cheeks a deep red as if his desire shamed him. Barca watched him for a moment, an amused smile on his face.

“As I see it you really have two choices. You speak with this man, tell him your desires or...” he stopped and grinned.

Agron frowned. “Or what?”

“You can enjoy all the pleasure and excitement that can come with fucking someone who could kill you with one blow.” Barca laughed. “Perhaps what you have now will become more in time, but there is nothing wrong in enjoying activities for pleasure alone, if you are comfortable with such a thing.”

#

Agron pondered Barca's words for a long time. He didn't really want declarations of love but he would be lying if he said he hadn't wished for what Barca and Pietros had, an easy intimacy that they displayed without hesitation.

But Barca and Pietros had been together since before Agron had been bought by Batiatus. Perhaps they too had gone through a stage of purely physical connection.

He wanted too much, especially from a man who had barely spoken a word to anyone in Capua less than a month ago, and he had already received more from the Viper than he had ever hoped for. It would be akin to spitting in the face of the gods if he demanded the man's heart as well as his cock.

Agron turned to the hard work of making the temple liveable and keeping the people fed in the days that followed. Under Barca's tutelage, some of the house slaves, men and women alike, were encouraged to take up sword to train if able, and smaller groups formed around medicus or women especially adept at sewing or other skills to learn their craft. Agron had not joined any groups other than training, lending his skills there, but, when the night fell and the fires were lit, he listened to the older ones, the storytellers, when watch allowed. An eldery woman had drawn his attention many times. She spoke his mother tongue though rusty with disuse. Agron hoped to speak with her and ask her what she remembered of their homeland but he was loathe to disrupt the crowd of listeners she always gathered at story time.

At last, after some six days of hard waiting, Pietros spotted signs of their warriors returning. Agron ran to meet them along with a handful of others but his steps quickly faltered.

“Is this all that returns?”

Spartacus nodded. “We were set upon in the mines and then again upon the road.” 

Crixus walked by without meeting Agron's gaze. Cradled in his arms was a filth caked, thin woman who bore no resemblance to the pretty girl Agron remembered gazing down from the balcony. 

“Does she live?” he whispered.

Spartacus nodded. He pulled Mira in close to his side. Both of them bore cuts and bruise, and blood matted Mira's hair on one side. “Her energy gave out as we climbed the slope. She is in need of water, we all are.”

Agron looked further into the woods. “Where is Tiberius?”

“In the hands of the Romans,” Mira mumbled through her tears. “He gave his life so we may escape.”

“Do not fret.” Spartacus squeezed Agron's shoulder. “The guards were not quiet about their plans. Once wounds tended and strength replenished I, and whoever will go with me, make for the arena in Capua.”

Agron frowned. “They plan to make him fight once more? Do they know how many will die if they do?”

“No,” Spartacus sighed. “They plan to crucify him as an example against all who would join our cause, but we will not let that happen!”

Though both Spartacus and Mira spoke Agron heard nothing else. Blood roared in his ears and breath became shallow rapid. He made a vow. No matter what it took, even if it meant his own death, he would see the Viper free once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have swapped Nasir with Crixus for this part of the story, in that he is captured rather than Crixus, and hopefully that doesn't seem too much of a stretch for a character that is supposed to be as amazing a fighter as Nasir is.
> 
> So, question for everyone. I have been pondering about doing a Nasir POV chapter, it will probably be a one off, and him sitting in the cell at the arena is probably a good chance to do it. I won't be revealing a ton of things about him through it, but some things. So what do we think? do we want a Nasir POV chap, or part of a chap, or will that ruin too much of his mystery?


	16. The Snakes Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While awaiting an almost certain death Tiberius ponders his life since he arrived in Capua

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While nothing is described in depth please take note of trigger warnings for mentions of sexual violence, rape, and infanticide. The usual warnings for canon typical violence, language, and themes also apply.
> 
> And if all that doesn't put you off please enjoy the first Nasir/Tiberius POV chapter of this piece.

Dust drifted down from the wooden roof above him, where the crowds stomped their feet and whooped for blood of men they saw as beneath them. His bruised face throbbed with their shouts. His body, battered and violated by those that held him captive after the mines vibrated with each thump above his head. Tiberius, at least that what they called him, had promised when they first brought him here that he would never give them the satisfaction of gaining entertainment from him. He would kill to survive, like he always had, but he would not put on a show. Even now, with body battered and soul aching, he would give them nothing! He would submit silently to his fate upon the cross.

It was hard to hold such conviction when Tiberius knew he had already broken his vow. But, just as an unlooked for ally had alluded to, the crowds expected pageantry, and what the crowd wanted controlled the very life of men such as him. The beating he had taken on return to the ludus was far worse than any wound he had ever taken in battle. Chained to the wall, unable to defend himself, he stared deep into the eyes of a man who had turned his strongest gladiators against one of their own and vowed he would see him dead before the season was over. To achieve it he had to stay alive.

Tiberius had learned a new lesson of survival that day. He became cat instead of snake, toying with his prey before killing them in bloodier and more elaborate ways. The crowd soaked it up. His shit of a master showered him with praise and offered him reward in whores and coin, none of which he wanted. He would not take any kindness they offered him, because it came with conditions and he would not be bought. He waited. He learned the routines of everyone in the house. He befriended the medicus to gain access to ingredients he needed for poisons but quickly abandoned that path when the medicus attended to force himself on him. He forged alliances with the house slaves and, though he hated it with all his being, he submitted to being petted and grabbed by wealthy Romans Solonius brought into his home.

The medicus later succumbed to a mystery stomach complaint that had absolutely nothing to do with a small pot Tiberius had given to the slaves that attended the medicus, not a single thing. Some of the wealthy Romans also found themselves in ill health for a few days after visiting Solonius and one of them, a pinch faced woman who had demanded Tiberius presented naked before her and then to pleasure himself her amusement, drowned as her lungs filled with blood for reasons the medicus of her house could not understand. Suspicion did fall upon Tiberius but no evidence was ever found in the ludus of any kind of poisons.

And after all that work, all the defilements he had to endure, all the beatings and the sickening feeling that consumed him whenever the crowd cheered for him and his cruelty, and the risk of being caught and killed each time he meted out punishment to someone that deserved it, he had jeopardised everything for one man.

Agron's first words to him had been to offer praise and reassurance, but before that, when their gaze had met across a room filled with the pampered upper class of Rome, he had not been fearful, like the taller Gladiator he now knew as Barca, nor had he shown bravado or hostility. He was merely curious and perhaps a little apprehensive, but that was to be expected when Tiberius had made sure he was flashing his teeth and glaring like a caged animal. He would never tell Agron, and had already kept the knowledge from him when opportunity arose to divulge it, that, on that night, he made a vow that he would not harm him if they ever came face to face in the arena, and when Agron had cared enough to cry Duro's name across the arena, that vow extended to Duro.

He had taken worse than a beating when he returned to the ludus after letting Duro live, which Solonius took as an act of betrayal. When he returned to his cell, bloodied, limping, and stained with the body fluids of the men who had been unleashed upon his restrained form, he renewed his resolve to escape his fate and take as many of the Romans to the afterlife on his way out. But there was one change to his plan. He would free Agron and Duro in the process. All he needed was the perfect opportunity.

His plans were hurried along by events at Batiatus' Ludus. Chained once more, so no harm came to Solonius' guest and to give the man the full experience of sticking his cock in something deadly, Tiberius, in full armor and with spear a hairs breath from his fingers, had waited for the inevitable pain, but it never came. The Roman had only ommited a gurgling sound before he fell heavily to the ground. The house slave, a young girl named Dionna, unchained him and, together, they freed the rest of the ludus. He lost them in the war torn streets but stumbled across Agron instead and found himself on a hunt for Agron's younger brother.

Tiberius had not intended for Duro to get hurt at all, but narrow streets and wailing crowds slowed him, and his spear was poor weapon in such conditions. By the time he had fought his way to Duro he was already gravely injured. He bound Duro's wounds as best he could but before he could get him somewhere safe a guard had grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him away.

He had freed himself but was quickly overwhelmed by guards. A sword buried deep in his thigh and remained there after the owner had lost his arm. It was Tiberius' to wield then and he did to deadly effect.

What had possessed him to go back and recover the head of his former master rather than seek safety and a place to tend to wounds he did not know. The token had not helped those distrustful of him change their mind, and the only ally he had hoped he could count on was soured against him with grief and fear. Only Duro offered him a smile and gentle words.

A clang brought Tiberius out of his thoughts. He waited for a moment, eyes on the cell door, but when no one came in he rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The crowd above him roared once more, heralding the extinguishing of another life.

Soon he would be out there while people cheered and applauded his torment. Would the people he left behind grieve him the same way they had others that had fallen? And what of poor Agron, bereft of brother only to lose someone he had grown close to? Tiberius hung his head. He had convinced himself that he had lain with Agron because he believed he would make it back to him, but if he truly believed that then it could have waited. 

Tiberius banged the back of his head against the wall. How could he do such a thing to Agron? And he had denied him the chance to speak too. All for what? For a physical connection without any deeper meaning? To satisfy his own need for just one sexual encounter with someone who actually cared about him? He had opened up to Agron a little bit, though nothing to personal, but now Agron would never know just how much Tiberius wanted to tell him or how he wanted nothing more than to lie by Agron's side once more in comfortable, safe silence.

Tears filled his eyes. No! This would not do. If he showed any weakness then the Romans would prey on it, just like they did when he begged for his little brother's life. This was exactly why he had refused to get close to anyone in their little army, why no one knew anything about him. The evil conquerors who painted themselves as liberators would exploit any connection to get what they wanted. They would not break him now, not when he had endured so much in the last few days to keep the others safe.

The gate to his cell opened and four guards stepped through. Tiberius got to his feet and quickly wiped away any evidence of tears. The guards approached him warily. Tiberius eyed the swords on their belts.  
“You have one more chance for your pitiful life to be spared,” the guard spat. “Tell us where Spartacus and his men are hiding!”

Tiberius remained silent, like he had through ever previous interrogation. The guard stepped forward. It was a split second decision, his body acting before his brain caught up, but, suddenly, Tiberius had ducked the punch and had torn the sword from the guards hands.

The first guard fell clutching his split throat, the second lost his fingers as he made a grab for the sword, and before the others could attack, Tiberius sprinted from the cell, clanging the heavy door behind him. The clamour of the crowd in the stands hid the roaring of the guards as others gave chase, but Tiberius kept running though where he was going he had no idea.

Someone grabbed his wrist and hauled him into a nearby room. Tiberius shoved them away, raised his sword, then stopped.

“Spartacus?” he whispered.

“Dress in this armour. Quickly,” Spartacus hissed. “Plan has changed and I would have your aid.”

Tiberius tore the armour from the dead guard, dressed quickly, and secured all of his hair up under the helmet to hide it. He followed Spartacus from the room, the two of them going largely unnoticed. Just two more faceless guards. They approached the main gates into the arena and stopped next to one of the guards. Tiberius breath caught when he saw him.

“Plans have changed,” Spartacus whispered. “Tiberius rescues himself.”

“What do we do now?” Agron hissed. “We cannot wait for it to take hold without distraction.”

Spartacus thought for a moment. “We must take matters into our own hand. Wait for the signal as before. Tiberius, with me.”

Tiberius paused for a moment but Agron smiled and nodded his head in Spartacus' direction. Tiberius walked as fast as he could without rising suspicion and followed Spartacus deeper into the underbelly of the arena. Smoke and and the stench of pitch and tar filled the air.

“Cut the beams!” Spartacus yelled. “Our plans have changed. We must bring it down, now!”

There was no time to process what the rebels had planned. Tiberius gripped his stolen sword tight and slammed it into the thick beam above his head. Chunk by chunk, the wood broke away until a whine vibrated through it.

They ran. Mira took the charge, hacking at the beams as they sprinted to keep ahead of the destruction. Agron joined them just before they ran into a room where filthy, blood stained water ran into the sewers. With barely a pause they discarded their armour and swam to freedom.

#

Connections were easily exploited. 

It was one common thread in Tiberius' life. His parents had given up information on resistance groups they were a part of to keep their children safe. Tiberius had begged for his brother's life and offered up the names of those who had sheltered them only to see the toddler's body dashed against the wall. The friends he had clung to in the aftermath had all died trying to protect each other, and he had been captured in the mines and tortured for information about his new allies, proving that, no matter how strong he was, no matter how hard he fought, he could never save those he loved. It was better to be cold hearted, disconnected, and not burden anyone with knowledge that could be wrung from them on pain of death.

And yet those same allies, who knew nothing about him and had experience nothing but cold indifference from him had risked their own lives to come to his aid. They had freed him from an arena crawling with guards, spirited him back to their hiding place, and once there offered him things to soothe his hurts. Water drawn from well to cleanse his skin. Clean clothes to replace the rags he had been left with and the watchful gaze of a kind, protective man whose eyes filled with tears at the sight of his bruised body.

He couldn't make connections. It was bad enough that he had given Agron some of his history, mostly the light hearted stuff that held little meaning, and that he had offered companionship to soothe the man's heart. If he put up the walls now he could kill whatever was between them before it became dangerous but, once again, his body moved before his mind had time to catch up. 

He walked over and, unsure what else to do, pressed his forehead to Agron's chest. Slowly, his fellow gladiator's arms slid around him and cradled him close.

He had never cried in front of someone else, not since his brother had been killed, and he had been a child then, not a grown man. Though he did not sob his tears left wet marks on Agron's chest and when he looked up into the sparkling green eyes he knew his sadness had not gone unnoticed. It had reached into the very heart of Agron and brought pain to him. Tiberius made up his mind. He would entrust this man with his most precious possession.

“Nasir,” he whispered. He reached up and gathered up Agron's tears with his thumb. “My true name is Nasir.”

Agron smiled. “It is wonderful to have you back with us, Nasir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments about a Nasir POV chapter. This seemed like the best spot for it, since so much has happened to him and we are starting to see a connection between him and Agron, but I hope I have not ruined all of Nasir's mystique too.


	17. Nasir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entrusted with the Viper's true name, Agron knows just the right time to speak it

_Nasir_

His true name suited him far better than Tiberius. Agron clutched the knowledge of it tight like a precious jewel, and indeed it was a precious, powerful thing and one he would not part with even on pain of death.

Agron had led the Viper to what he hoped would be their shared room, just like ones they had shared in the villa, and did not allow those who brought salves, water, and clothing to tarry too long. It was clear to anyone with half a lick of sense that the Viper was at breaking point.

And, sure enough, after cleansing himself as best he could with rag and water he had rested head upon Agron's chest and wept. Then had come the gifting of his name. After repeating it to him, Agron had not spoken it again, as if saying it too often would strip its power.

Nasir did not speak again either. He nodded his consent when Agron offered help to treat cuts upon his back or to gently wash matted hair of blood and other things Agron would rather not think about. For this task, Agron was able to find a large bowl within their collected possessions and though it took far longer than Agron had expected, due to bloodied areas where clumps of hair had been ripped out at the roots, Agron did not stop until all of it was clean and loosely braided so as not to cause the Viper more pain.

They had not broken him. For all the cruelty he had suffered Nasir's fire remained, though dimmed somewhat with pain and fatigue, and even now he smiled at Agron's hissed curses as he fumbled with the chord to secure Nasir's hair. But Nasir had endured too much to remain awake, and after slumping where he sat for a second time as he ate Agron bid him to sleep.

“Will you remain here?” Nasir asked, his voice surprisingly light for all that had passed in recent days.

There were weapons to sharpen. Food to prepare. Supplies to carefully store. Walls to patrol. There were also other people to do those things. “Do you wish me to stay?”

The Viper nodded without missing a beat. “I have missed your warmth at my back.”

Agron placed his armour in a careful pile and lay on the pallet he had piled high with pilfered bedding from the villas, though not so high as to rob others of comfort in the night. Nasir lay down and sighed contentedly, a smile playing on his lips.

“I dreamed I would return here,” he whispered. “Well, not here. I have never been here, but to a space shared with you.”

“I too wished for such a thing,” Agron murmured. “When they returned without you...” he trailed off, the memory too painful to recall.

Nasir chewed his lip. “I did not intend for such a thing, but the woman could barely stand, and in carrying her Crixus could not fight. I had to allow them time to escape.”

Warmth radiated from deep in Agron's chest and spread through him. “You are a noble man and a warrior worthy of song, and many hear have sung your praises in your absence.”

Tiberius smiled. “Goodnight, Agron.” He rolled onto his other side, putting his back to Agron.

Agron laughed under his breath. Some things never changed. He snuggled as close as he could without touching the Viper and closed his eyes.

#

The candles still burned when he awoke once more, and though wasting a precious light source while sleeping should be grounds for some sort of punishment it was worth it to be greeted with the sight of the Viper's eyes, amber in the candle light, gazing at him.

“Apologies,” he whispered, though his smile made his words hollow. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Agron asked, though he knew the answer.

Nasir's smile widened. “Perhaps I should wake you next time?”

“Are you in pain? I can fetch something from the medicus.” Agron started to rise but Nasir pressed a hand to his chest.

“Stay where you are,” Nasir purred. He swung his leg over Agron's body and moved to straddle his hips. “I would have us make good use of this rare moment of solitude.”

Agron rested his hands on Nasir's hips. “You are injured. Do not be foolish.”

“I am not so hurt that I cannot take your cock.” He rolled his hips, rubbing their cocks together through the subligaria's they still wore. A momentary drawing down of his eyebrows was all the indication such a movement hurt him.

“I desire you mouth on mine instead.” Agron pressed the pad of his thumb to Nasir's lower lip.

Nasir frowned. “That is truly all you want?”

Agron smiled. “Not all. I also desire your warmth against me and to hold you in my arms. I wish to taste your breath as if it were my own.”

Nasir slowly moved to lie by Agron's side again. “Apologies, I had not envisioned such a thing. I moved with haste before leaving for the mines, fearing there may be no other time and now I do the same absent excuse. It was cruel to force such a thing on you and not allow you to make thoughts known, and it was a worse thing to do to someone who has already lost so much.”

“I do not regret it, not at all,” Agron whispered. “Not what we did nor the manner in which we did it or, indeed, the reasons behind it. But there is no reason to rush now, especially when absent oil and you need time to recover.”

Nasir rested his hand on Agron's hip. One slender fingers traced the bone around and back onto flesh in a loose spiral. “You think there will be a time other than this?” he teased.

“Oh I know it,” Agron moved closer. “You entrusted something precious to me. That is not the act of a man thinking of leaving.”

“Perhaps it was a parting gift.” Nasir's hand slid up to rest in the dip of Agron's waist. 

“Then I should speak it between us now.” Agron rested up on his elbow and leaned over to whisper in Nasir's ear. “How long has it been since you have heard your true name spoken, especially by someone who holds you dear?”

A soft sigh escaped Nasir's throat. “Too long. I would hear it upon your lips as promised.”

“Nasir,” Agron purred into his ear. He smiled as the Viper shivered. “Your true name befits you. A beautiful name for the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes upon.”

Nasir laughed softly. “You flatter.”

Agron lay back down so close to Nasir that their noses touched. “I speak truth. From the moment I saw you your beauty intrigued me. Your strength thrilled me.”

Nasir closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Agron's. They kissed slowly for a moment before Nasir's tongue probed against his lips, seeking entry. Agron moaned softly as they kiss deepened.

Agron cupped the back of Nasir's neck and held him close. His heart thumped in his chest and his skin tingled under Nasir's wandering hands.

“Nasir,” he whispered against the Viper's lips as they parted. 

A moan was Nasir's only answer. He kissed Agron hard. Agron gladly rolled onto his back under Nasir's persuasion and wrapped his arms around the Viper, cradling him close. The force behind Nasir's kiss was slowly fading until he pulled away altogether with a sigh and lay his head upon Agron's chest. 

“Apologies,” he whispered. “The mind is willing but the body--”

“Is recovering for an arduous ordeal and requires rest,” Agron said with a smile. “Sleep. I shall be by your side when you awake.”

Nasir stretched up and placed a sloppy kiss on Agron's lips. “Goodnight, Agron,” he whispered.

This time he did not roll to put his back to Agron but lay his head on Agron's shoulder. And just before sleep claimed him, his fingers found the pulse point in Agron's wrist.

Agron couldn't help but smile. He kissed the Viper's forehead and, with the sound of Nasir's breathing soothing him, drifted into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you fluff and you gots some fluff :D
> 
> I did consider throwing a love scene into this chapter, but given that Nasir has been imprisioned and harshly treated for a few days I doubt hes in fit shape. There will be more of those though :D


	18. Heart Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron tries to make amends with Crixus now that he has a new perspective on his hunt for Naevia.

It was still dark when Agron opened his eyes. Nothing had awoken him as far as he could tell. The villa was as silent as a confined space with most of its inhabitants sleeping could be, and the steps of those on watch on the wall nearby could be heard in the still night air. Agron enjoyed a nights watch, when all was silent and the world seemed empty save for him, but his vigilance was needed elsewhere right now and the one he had charged himself with watching over remained in the kind of exhausted sleep only a healing body could bring.

Nasir had rolled over in the night, his back once again to Agron, but rather than the usual hold he kept on Agron's wrist he had one arm folded under his head and the other tucked around his waist. Perhaps this was the first time the Viper had truly slept by Agron's side rather than keep half awake vigil.

Had Nasir been protecting him? He had not known him before all the pain that had befallen upon escaping the ludus and could not hope to know how the Viper would have acted if circumstances were different, but it seemed there was evidence enough for that to be true. The sparing of Duro's life in the arena, the saving of Agron's own, and remaining by his side ever afterwards until being forcibly ripped away.

Except for the night they fucked.

Agron had never had his body used against his will, not in sexual matters at least, and he could not judge the actions of someone who had. What mattered was Nasir was here now, safe, and Agron would do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Nasir rolled over to his back and his face scrunched up in pain. Agron placed his hand gently on his arm.

“What can I do?” he whispered.

“I would have you kiss me again,” Nasir said, his voice thick with sleep.

“Gladly, but something for the pain, perhaps? I shall ask medicus unless you have a recommendation yourself?”

Nasir frowned. “I am no medicus.”

“But your mother taught you the use of herbs,” Agron said with a smile. “And though you use poisons I'm sure the making of them is not so different.”

Nasir smiled warmly. “Gratitude but I do not require any such treatment. I was attended well by the medicus and those training with him and had any wounds treated as appropriate. My muscles are merely complaining of rest after so long in use.

“And what of wounds of a more...intimate nature?”

“They were attended to along with the others.” Nasir's voice did not change but he dropped his gaze. “And like the rest they will heal.”

“Is there anything I can do to ease your pain? And not just that from physical wound?”

Nasir smiled though it did not reach his eyes. “I am still absent kissed previously asked for.”

Agron gently kissed him but the Viper cradled his face in his hands and help him close as he swept his tongue over Agron's lower lip. Their kiss deepened, slow as it was the night before, their tongues lazily lapping at one another.

“You rise to the occasion,” Nasir mumbled into the kiss and moved his leg to rub his thigh with more force against Agron's erection.

“A thing of no consequence.” 

“Bu--” Nasir began, only to have his words stifled by the gentle press of Agron's hand. 

The shocked look quickly melted away and Agron felt the smile against his palm. He moved his hand away and kissed Nasir once more. The Viper's hands never strayed from where they lay upon his back except to brush through his hair. They parted, breathless.

“You do not wish me to touch you?” Nasir asked.

“Not until both of us are healed enough to enjoy such things.” He nuzzled Nasir's nose with his own. “And I will hear no argument on the matter. I will not see you suffer even the slightest pain at my hands.”

Nasir watched him silently, his face an impassive mask. Slowly, his hand slid from Agron's back and pressed to his chest over his heart. He gazed deep into Agron's eyes, a small smile playing on his lips before drawing Agron back down into a kiss.

Though not a sound had been spoken, Agron understood every word.

#

Later that morning, when Nasir had allowed Agron to help him dress and bind the larger wounds he had , they joined the rest of the rebels. Agron was close enough to see the Viper's confusion at the welcome he received but he quickly recovered. Though his old walls did not fall completely cracks were appearing as he softened to those that showed him kindness.

“How does he fare?” Spartacus asked.

Agron looked over at where Nasir sat with some other Syrians talking in their native tongue and smiled. “He slept well, though tender muscle plague him. He insists on no pain from wounds inflicted and yet...” Agron fell silent. He was divulging too much.

Spartacus smiled knowingly and clasped Agron's shoulder “He is in good hands.”

“I would have someone keep watch nearby though when it is my time for nights watch. Someone he picks, that he trusts.”

“And I would have you care for him until he is able to resume old duties himself,” Spartacus said. “If you so desire.”

“He does not require me by his side at all times.”

“Perhaps not, but he watches over you, even now. I fear he would see no rest if you were parted from him.”

Agron looked over and met Nasir's eye. Nasir smiled and looked away, rejoining the conversation. Agron's chest flooded with warmth. 

“I fear the same would be true for me, as it has been the days he was gone.”

“Take heart that he has returned to you,” Spartacus said. “I must go. I would break words with others before morn is out.” 

They shook in the way of the brotherhood, clasping forearms, before Spartacus took his leave. Agron watched him for a moment before seeking out one he had needed to break words with for a long time.

Crixus' face darkened as Agron approached but it did not deter him. Naevia was not with him, something Agron was thankful for when it came to what he had to say.

“Apologies. I only tried to turn from your path to protect others, but I understand now the pain of losing ones heart and the joy of having it returned, and in your place I know I would have done same.

Crixus sneered. “You believe one night with a serpent wrapped around your cock is comparable to the love Naevia and I share.”

Agron swallowed down the harsh words he wanted to say. “I believe it is as strong on my part, and will only grow, as yours and Naevia's also will, with time.” 

Crixus got up and approached Agron. “If you had got your way Naevia would be rotting in the mines.”

“Tiberius almost lost his life to reclaim her!” Agron snapped.

Crixus snorted a laugh. “I share no ill will towards the Viper. Though he falls sharply in my estimation if he has truly chosen to mire himself in shit east of the Rhine. Perhaps, in time, he will learn there are much better, bigger cock to impale himself on.”

He laughed loudly as he walked away. Agron balled his fists and bared his teeth but his rage quickly dissipated when Nasir shouted his name. 

“Sit with us and I will teach you words in my tongue, words that my friends have long forgotten thanks to Roman shits.” Nasir reached up to place hand on Agron's back as Agron sat down. “And perhaps, in turn, you will teach me yours?”

Agron basked under the warm smile Nasir bestowed upon, leaned in close, and whispered so only Nasir could hear. “I desire greatly to hear your skilled mouth shape the words of my language.”

No matter what pleasures the future brought or what happiness they found, Agron knew it would be a struggle to feel the such joy again of the kind brought on by seeing blush colour the Viper's cheeks at his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff! Cos these two being cute with each other (especially with this Nasir being such a lethal baddass) is just heart eyes.
> 
> I was listening to, quite by accident, a song by Vangellis called Pinta, Nina, and Santa Maria (i have a bit writing playlist I listen through and that is on it) which kinda fitted the start of this chapter when they are in bed and being all gentle and loving quite well. Have a listen to it, it's on spotify, and if you do let me know if you think the same :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Willing Spoils](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527482) by [Kaerith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith)




End file.
